{These are} The Magic Hours

These are the hours when pain gives way to pleasure.

When those long sleepless nights

give way to tall tales by tree light

the weight of his 5 years pressing on you

as he throws his hands wide

and his voice sparkles and cracks

with narrative

And a toddler arm drapes around

your neck as she drifts,

sleep dancing across her eyelids

as her body sinks into

the night.

These are the hours filled with past treasures and future dreams are imagined.

When we sit frozen

drinking in frame by frame

his presence. his voice. his spirit.

captured by a 6 year old's unsteady hand.

Fresh tears are shed as our very limbs ache to hold him

and laughter bubbles from the assurance to see him as our hearts remember.

And in a single click we stare at each other,

incredulous...we finally booked it -

a week away, just us. 11 years best friends, 7 years man and wife.

and while we tuck beneath our tired and worn sheets,

and our heads rest on familiar pillows,

we whisper of the new places we are going, our new life yet to discover.

These are the hours when past hopes fall away, and the present is undone with limitless love.

When you believe with everything you have

that the best is yet to come

because the road has risen to meet you,

and you carry the weight of your past

as knowledge, instead of pain.

And you kneel with your son who's weeping

because the man at the restaurant tells him

no balloons today, because of a helium shortage...

He's weeping not just for the lost prize, but as he puts it,

"for a world with no more balloons."

These are the hours that dance and delight, that wonder and imagination take flight.

When 3 year old girls

give way to sugarplum fairies

and with every twirl of her purple tulle skirt and pointed toe,

we are all pulled out of the kitchen of present

to an exotic land of decadence and mouse kings.

And chairs, blankets, and stuffed friends

become the best kind of puppet stage

while tinkling laughter washes over us all

due to elementary school humor

and objects appearing from thin air

behind ears.

These are the hours that make the years fly, folding us into life with grace and love.

For these~ these are the magic hours.

(Linking with Tuesdays Unwrapped, Just write, and darling Emily at Imperfect Prose)