The Guardian

Wandering the halls, I hear the chatter of children speaking, pencils scraping against paper and teacher droning on. I have heard this all before – many times. But it never tires me. I am privileged to be here. It is the first day of school.

The library is quiet, children lean over desks memorizing or doing homework. Some chatter under their hands or pass notes while a stern looking teacher wanders amongst them telling them to be quiet.

They cannot see me but I can see them. That is normal. I am not here to be seen. I am here to watch. I cannot step in to change their choices nor can I offer physical comfort. That is not what I am about.

A bell sounds and the scraping of chairs against polished floors tells me the children are moving towards the exits. Play time

I move outside. Passing through the walls. The sun shines down from above providing warmth and light. I stand off to the side and watch. It is all I can do. I am not allowed to interfere. My eyes dart from one child to the next. A soft smile curls my lips as they chase a ball or play hopscotch, the soft click of a stone landing on the pavement almost unheard except to me.

Their loud chatter and laughter rings through the air. I have heard it a million times before but still marvel at the happy sound. My eyes land on a child standing alone, looking lost and uncertain. then another child approaches him, introduces himself and together, they go off to play. The smile on my lips widens.

A soft breeze fans my face. I don't feel hot or cold, merely the breath of life as it passes over me.

I did not give birth to these children. I have never given birth. But each one of these children are mine. They are my heart's breath. I would die for each and every one of them. I have died for them before. I cradle their lives in my hands.

A bunch of girls stand in a circle, each sending furtive glances to a boy that has caught their attention and then turning back and giggling. Over the years, the centuries, the millennia, this scene has played out so many times, I can no longer count. My smile widens until my cheeks hurt and my eyes are small slits,

I am not part of it. I am outside it. I watch, constantly watching but not participating. I have a choice, I can leave and return to live a life, or stay. I am afraid of one choice, and tired of the other.

I look up to the sky, the sun has moved and I know it is almost time to leave. To return to a home that is far away from here. The children scramble to return to their classrooms.

I spread my wings and take flight. I will return tomorrow. I am their guardian.