Worried.
It's often,
if not,
how I choose to be.
It leaves me
imagine-less
too often wondering,
about my adult woes.
Then,
I wake up to the sound
of giggling,
doe-eyed,
frazzled bed-headed
children.
The smell of cinnamon
waning through the sound of fans.
Poppin' toaster ovens.
Clinkin' pans.
Brushin' plush slippers.
I rolled my crepe,
and slathered it the sweetest
maple syrup.
A smile creeps up.
And so the day begins.
