The Art of Listening

I awake to melodic calls of the birds outside my window.

Dawn breaks,

there is movement in the street.

I roll over and hug my partner,

he groans,

he isn't one to arise with the birds.

From the other room my son calls out to me,

a call of fear, anger, betrayal.

But I am proud,

it's the first time he has slept in his own room all night.

The blinds clack as I lift them and open his bedroom window.

He smiles, says good morning to the birds,

and we sing songs together while I make his breakfast.

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