The house was silent and still.
Her movements were careful.
She couldn't risk shattering the quiet.
Feet from the surrounding bedrooms would hit the floor to investigate its source.
Fresh apple cider warmed upon the stove, filling the air with the smell of damp autumn leaves and sweet nectar.
Her favorite mug was filled and topped with a flower of whipped cream, and a dusting of savory cinnamon.
Her hands warmed through as she carried it to the back door.
She slid it open and the cool air washed over her toes.
With a blanket wrapped around her, she found the one patch of sun in front of the opening.
And there she sat.
Between sips, her head tipped backward enjoying the light from the sun and the tickle of the soft breeze.
With the mug almost empty, a doorknob could be heard rustling in the distance.
A quiet turn of the brass handle and toddler feet sprinting across the house.
To her spot in the sun.
He opened his mouth and hung his tongue out like an animal.
She covered her finger with the sweet cream and nurtured the child like only a mother could.
No words were exchanged just yet.
A deep smile spread across his face creating the perfect spot to place a morning kiss.
"Mama, I want hote-meal!" (oatmeal)
And oatmeal he shall have.