the. bungalow. post.

The sun rises in the afternoon.

I see her rise three times a day, actually.

First, as the familiar one to us all, breaking over the horizon, spilling herself through our curtains.  I pull myself out of bed.

Second, she curls her sleepy sunbeams around my neck, for a good morning hug and I lift her from the crib.

Then my sun girl lays quietly in a cloud of afternoon dreams. 

And, when the day is waning, and the shadows lengthening, she rises once more beaming and bursting with light.

She'll warm you, she'll burn you. She was set in motion by a higher power than me long before her nature like counter part was hung in the sky.

I'd also like to mention, I feel like a baker pulling a fresh loaf of bread out of the oven every time I lift Cora out of bed in the morning.  I exchange an apron for rumpled pajamas and the pride of a baker's creative work for the humbleness of knowing that I was once only the oven myself for this lump of dough.