tomorrow



photo courtesy of morguefile.com



Tomorrow will be a momentous day.

Tomorrow will be a life passage, a milestone.

Tomorrow your world will begin to grow in size, exponentially, immeasurably.

Tomorrow you'll wake up on one continent and journey to another.

Tomorrow you will really be on your own.

Tomorrow I'll wake you early: you'll be grumpy from a bad night's sleep.

Your expectation of it being so did not make this morning arrive more quickly, or come more gently.

I'll make you a cup of tea: you'll wimper a bit at me.
You'll shower and dress and look at me with soulful eyes.
Tomorrow we'll load up the van and pile in and drive the miles to the airport in the big city (stopping along the way in Chinatown to load you up with dim sum delights).
Tomorrow I'll walk you to the counter where you'll show your passport and deposit your luggage. Tomorrow, I imagine, you'll want to do it yourself.
You won't need me tomorrow as much as you feel you don't need me today.

Tomorrow your wings will fully come in.
Your feathers will fluff and you'll step to the edge of the nest.
You've taken some test flights, yes, but this time you'll step up to the rim and then push off.

You'll soar.
         
I will sit back and watch, feeling the mix, the familiar mix, of joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy.
Watching my hatchling take to the skies.

Every mother on the planet must do this one day.

My day is tomorrow as is yours.


Safe travels, Hatchling. I look forward to hearing about all that you've seen.