The Witching hour

Sitting here on this old couch with a blanket thrown over it giving it that rustic quaint look , I listen to the ocean, it's calm today; the sea hits gently against the jagged rocks, the yachts/boats dotted on the sea, ahead of me two older gentlemen speaking in a language I do not understand and off in the distance the lush green mountains.

Today is a beautiful day. I raise my glass of scotch to my lips and sip. Ok what now? I had planned this day from the night before, and in the process gave the north wind a good laugh; things never turn out as planned.

At 3:10am, Jabari woke up crying, like he usually does to signal that either he no longer wishes to sleep alone or he is hungry, or a combination. His cries breaks the silence of my slumber and a spring to my feet. But on this morning the reason for his cries remain a mystery. He would not go back to sleep with the same speed with which he woke, and he would not take his bottle. He seemed content to roll around crying, possessed by memories of the bosom of his mother, now seemingly a distant memory; stealing away these precious moments of rest from me.

Last night was one of my more frustrating nights with him; and I broke. I tried to silence his cries; muffle them for a moment; I screamed out at him, a lot of good that did, I could do not scream in baby dialect so he persisted. Finally defeated by his unrelenting wails, I hovered over him and begged him in a solemn voice; "J please stop." I swear that child feels my pain and frustration at times like these; in his semi-conscious state, eyes half open, he reached out with both hands and touched my face. He brings me back to calm.

In my mind I heard him say, sorry papa (like only he can say it), I just want to sleep next to you. With that gesture only a child could make, I rolled over to my side, he fitted himself snugly against my body and fell asleep.

It's after 4am and my slumber is resumed. J, sun of mine, forgive me for my impatience.