lullaby

I was in the kitchen of the family house we built when I was young. Various family members were in the kitchen and the adjoining sunroom, talking and milling around. My brother was there, at his current age and height – in his thirties and six foot something – and I picked him up in my arms, cradling him like a child. He was light and I felt quite able to lift him. I sang a lullaby, walking around the house, and quite enjoyed the resonance of my own voice, deep and low in my throat. My mother and sister joined in singing the last few notes.