Today

Today I was reading a book at nap time. A good book. And often when I read a good book I get this itch to write. Today I got that itch and it started me thinking about being 30. I have always wanted to write a novel and now I am 30 and I have never even come close. What had I been doing? Soon after my thoughts ran to photography along these same lines and somewhere in the middle of all of this melancholy a little face appeared next to me. He had sleepy eyes and a sad pout. Something about a missing plane, and he needed to snuggle. And once he was tucked in next to me with his little head resting on my chest and his soft hair grazing my cheek, I thought, oh right. I have been here. I have been here for every lost plane, and bad dream. For every step and every fall. I have seen every first, and heard all the sounds turn to words. I have not missed a thing. At all. There will always be time for novels, but right now I am right where I want to be.