Whisper

Little C simply does not know what a whisper is.  She thinks it’s yelling…with your lips mostly pursed.  This definition makes for some interesting interactions at church, library, post office, or public restrooms when you really, really, really need the preschooler with no thought filter to whisper-whisper.  Not yell-whisper.

Whispers are easy to miss.  Whispers come with a stiff, cold breeze that undercuts a deceptively warm October sun.  Whispers point out shades of white, cream, and silver on a column of decorative pumpkins.  Whispers are the flower swirl on the top of my latte.  Whispers are red stripes chasing up green leaves.  Whispers are the brush of another human’s skin against your own, even if you’re just collecting change from your groceries purchase.

With all the big and loud and yell around us, whispers can be precious and point to precious.

Maybe Little C is onto something after all.  Maybe the whisper things really should be shouted loud and celebrated with a whisper-yell.

All except commentary on your mother’s bathroom progress.  That, at all costs, should be a mute-whisper.

Day 26 of 31 days.  For the month of October, I’m joining in on 31 Days of 5 Minute Free Writes.  Following the rules to write an unedited response to a prompt in 5 minutes, I’m grateful for the challenge of Write 31 Days.