Voices

I would be lying if I said I never tired of hearing them. Their little voices carve wrinkles. All the waking day, they perfect the furrows in my brow, the lines around my lips. And sometimes when the day draws dark, I sit beside them at the kitchen island, numb to the noise, piping in only a line or two about broccoli and dessert.

But. Those voices. They are more often the well from which I draw buckets of joy. Those wrinkle carvers make tiny lighthouses of my eyes. They turn me into a beacon, light my face. They etch arc-shaped creases that beam out from my eyes the way you draw sound in cartoon.

I hear their voices and open mine. I say, "Here I am. This is the shore. We are grounded. We are safe and dry."

And in hearing their voices, I find mine.
But I would be lying if I said they never leave me speechless.

::

Lately I have been melting at the sound of Dani singing. Here is a clip. Can I hear that and not feel full to the very brim? Of course I can't. (p.s. It's not a video clip--just sound, but I couldn't figure out how to add just a sound clip.)