The moon is full.  It is the harvest moon, and in our minds it feels like it should light the way of the farmers as they bring in the crops when the light fades.  Instead the clouds whip past it as the storm creeps up on us slowly.

Tonight I put the little man to sleep in his new bedroom.  He was moved up to his penthouse a few days ago from the room beside our own bedroom.  His room is directly above ours but it feels like a world away.  Several times during the night we would each take a random turn in going up the stairs to look in on him and listen to his snoring.

Tonight he snoozed in my arms and we listened to the wind outside.  His is an attic room with velux windows that tell every raindrop and gust, and I am jealous.  I used to sleep in such a room.  My father and I built it together.  We built the wooden frames for the walls, we put the plaster on, then paper, then paint.  We wired it all up with plugs and lights and then I slept and listened to the storms.  I loved that I was on the top of the house and the most exposed to the elements.  In winter I was the coldest and in summer I was the warmest.  It is a strange confession, but I must admit; that, even now, if I have trouble sleeping I imagine that there is only the thinnest of membranes between me and the elements.  It is enough for me to be comfortable but not enough for me not to know that it is a blessing.

We listened to the wind together and he slipped into slumber.  He has the attic room now but I won’t mind if he gets a little afraid of the worst of winter storms.  I won’t mind if he wants his dad to sleep next to him on the floor.  I won’t mind at all.