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The Guardian

There is something in her greater than herself.

Which is why she waits on the top bunk with her head on a borrowed pillow.

Each night.

Waits for the even breathing of her brother below her.

Sunday through Saturday.

Waits for his final sigh as he twists his right leg over his left and curls up to face the wall.

Waits and listens.  Listens and waits.

And then, when she is certain he will not wake to miss her, she creeps from her covers and lights down the ladder like a cat.

In seconds she is beneath her own sheets, in her own room, head tilted on a flattened pillow, soft lamb in one hand.

Breathing gently.

Every night.

Sunday through Saturday.


2 Responses to “The Guardian”

  1. What a sweet post Jeanne. I can so fully visualize it. Thanks!

  2. Linda H says:

    She is such a nice sister and a sweet sweet gal.
    In just a few words you captured her true spirit.
    Good job Jeanne.

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