Tonight I heard scribbling….that old familiar sound….that beautifully fulfilling and somehow cathartic resonance of pencil, not pen, on paper. It came not from me in one of my moments of compulsive scribbling, but from my 14 year old daughter, #3 child.
She is deep in concentration, with her head tilted to one side, writing almost as fast as she types and seemingly oblivious to all around her, yet able to partake of the banter that regularly injects itself into our idyllic little cottage. She writes eloquently and freely. It is intelligent, reasoned, natural writing that regularly strikes me with its maturity.
Her 17 year old sister writes equally well and in these past 4 years or so has shown a skill and confidence in her writing that both humbles and affects. She will go far, she will influence. She will never make me anything less than proud and she will never fail to strive for higher ambition. She has proven this with her exam driven competitive edge.
I am of course proud of all of my four wonders; nothing on this earth could detract from their constant and unrelenting zest for life and knowledge. They are my influence, my compassion, my love and my reasoning.
They are my inspiration.
