at the close of day

Cups of water by the bed, a bandaid over a scrape from the day, the lovey retrieved from a far corner of the house.  We make the nightly trips, bringing things to ease the transition from the presence of the day to the rest of the night.

Each of you lie drowsy and warm, tucked in your beds, waiting for us to make our way one last time down the darkened hall.  We stand beside your bed, whispering goodnight and a prayer over you.  That prayer, like the blanket tucked up close under the chin, smoothes out the rough places of the day and lays soft over the length of you.  It gives a gentle weight of presence bringing the whirling hours of the day to a close.