Sunday, March 6, 2011

guardian

This morning, I dashed down stairs and lept into the foyer, heading for the door that leads to my mother's suite. As my stocking clad foot touched down, I slipped. For just a moment, the world stood still, and fortunately, so did I.
A cement floor covered in tile is not a friendly surface to hurl oneself onto.
Shock and relief washed over me. "Thank you, thank you Lord," I breathed. Such a close call.
I am writing one hundred times on the blackboard of my mind.
I will not run down the stairs.
I will not leap into the foyer in stocking feet.
I will say thank you every evening when I crawl into bed. And no doubt, so will my guardian angel.

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