“Mommy. See dragons?”
With my eyes still closed, I felt his tiny hands climb up my chest. Warm air hit my cheek, and I recognized the sweet smell of toddler breath.
“Mommy,” was in my ear as the clouds of sleep drifted away. I childishly grabbed at them, not quite ready to give them up. I weighed the likelihood of him falling back into sleep if I just kept my eyes closed a bit longer.
I created tiny slits with my eyelids to see if he was looking at me.
Yep. He was.
“Mommy. See dragons?” S lifted his arm and pointed out the window over our bed. “BIG ones,” he emphasized with a whisper and irresistibly big two-year-old eyes.
I lifted myself up and looked out the window onto our front lawn. I stared past our big oak tree and the baby swing, still in the quiet of the morning.
“See them? See dragons?” he repeated hopefully.
I smiled, as much on the inside as a soft joy filled me as on the outside, for him, and relaxed my eyes.
And I saw them.
Lumbering across our front lawn, wings folded tight against his body, slick, shiny scales reflecting a pale blue in the morning sun, was a dragon. He was magnificent. I recall having seem him a time or two before, in my younger days.
A few paces to his right sat a smaller version, reddish in color and resembling one of S’s favorite toys. He lounged on his hindquarters, complacently surveying the yard with an air of regal ownership.
“Yes, baby. I see them,” I whispered, grabbing him in a hug. “Such a spectacular way to wake up, with dragons in the yard. We are so very lucky to have dragons.”
And I meant every word.