Morning

Grandma took Eberly by the hand and, together, they left their shoes on the porch and danced in the garden. They hummed a little (to share the music in their heads), but they reached up and up and up and swayed back and forth as if each of them were flowering - soaking up the inadequate sunshine. "There is only one of you and one of me," Grandma sang in a soft, sweet voice, "and so it's good that we should be ... " "Dancing in the morning light," Eberly finished with a giggle, "to make the day exactly right!" The others watched, judged, made displeased faces at the window, spoke amongst themselves about "dementia" and "ridiculous behavior" and "catching your death of cold" and, while Grandma and Eberly could feel this somehow, they paid it no mind - smiling as they came back onto the porch and dried their feet with a towel (slipping back into their shoes and making a beeline for hot tea and cocoa with a breakfast cookie in tow). Later that day, it rained ... not everywhere, mind you, but only in one garden that was already saturated with joy, and only just enough to keep all of the roses blooming.