Seven

When the evening star is near
and my clothes are folded on the chair,
And mama switches off the light,
I'll be 6 years old tonight.
But from the very break of day.
Before the children rise and play.
Before the darkness turns to gold,
Tomorrow I'll be 7 years od.
7 kisses when I wake.
7 candles on my cake.


Ruby recently turned 7.
Turning seven feels big to me.
Over the last year there has been such a shift in her fundamental consciousness and now it feels that we have arrived at the doorway through which middle childhood resides.
The timing does seem splendidly accurate.


Her birthday was anchored in the familiar family rituals.
The poem the night before.
The birthday tray brought to the bedroom upon awaking.
The crown.
The phonecalls.
Oh and of course, the cake.
These are small actions but are big on giving the day significance.



And then there were the surprises.
A Quest with a feast afterwards felt suitable for the number seven.


I stand and breath as I watch this girl unfolding before me.
She is superbly astonishing.