We

The storm is coming and they are alone. Smiling, she tries to chase the panic into a corner of her mind.
Pretending to be calm, she gently washes the child’s sweet, innocent body.
“A woman’s breasts: two perfect drops of tears – the sorrow of a body saying goodbye to childhood, getting ready to nourish another.” Remembering her own mother’s words, her smile becomes warm and real. The child laughs, her small feet splashing the water. The little body is following the rhythm of the mother’s heartbeat. Like a couple of graceful ice-dancers, they are perfectly synchronized. They have to be.
She hears the thunder. The lighting will strike soon.
The little one is clean and fed and sleepy now. The mother is ready. Wide awake she waits, she listens, she watches.
More thunder. No lighting yet.