He loved to watch her as she slept, her body a comma on the stark white page of the bed sheet. Her golden hair glowed in the early light as the soft rays crept through the windows. She slept with her arms bent at the elbow, one forearm crossing the other, fingers slightly curled. Her feet, which she rubbed methodically against each other in the early hours of sleep, unconsciously seeking to warm them, stilled by morning, and her form moved almost imperceptibly with each deep breath she took.

Her face was young and innocent when she slumbered. Soon, she would rise, and her visage would take on one of the expressions she cycled through each day: the faint furrowing of her brow as she concentrated on a task or dilemma, the bright smile and twinkling eyes at some small delight, the pursing of her lips and wrinkling at the corners of her eyes as she feigned annoyance at some false offense, only to falter into an amused chuckle.

She would make her way through the flat—tidying, creating, working—until the early afternoon, when she would leave to spend a few hours with the children. The center was only a few blocks away; she chose to walk the distance each day to see the people and gather the stories they were telling. After her time playing, hugging, bandaging, laughing at the center was through came the walk back to the flat. She would close the door, happily kick off her shoes, and enter his study with two cups of tea. She would relay the report of the walk stories, the center stories, and her own imagined stories; he would smile and sip his tea and laugh good-naturedly from time to time.

Then the twilight of their day would come. Fed and content, they drifted off to sleep, him staring at the ceiling, her gazing out the window. They would rest, and he would rise with the sun in the morning, retrieve his pad of paper, and sit by the window to write.

He would watch her as she slept. As he watched, he waited for that one glorious moment: the moment between asleep and awake, when her eyes opened with the wonder of Eden, the vision of the dawn of creation. She always smiled just slightly, as if enthralled by this strange and wonderful world which she was to enter.

He waited. She stirred. Eyes opened: a soft smile.

“Good morning.”