The Beekeeper’s Daughter
As most farmers are, he was an early riser. Although there were no cock-a-doodle-doo calls from roosters in a pen, Caleb had developed a sleep cycle that worked around the rising of the sun. Once the far off glowing ball of fire crested the horizon, its early rays began to heat his eyelids to the point of opening. The ritual of shaking out the cobwebs of sleep required little effort on his own part. Whether his own internal drive forced him out of bed or not is anybody’s guess.
This morning, being much like any other, Caleb pulled the sheet and comforter up over his body and rolled a half turn until the tips of his toes touched the floor. Finding that he had been putting on the pounds recently, his rounded belly was making the process ever more difficult. Caleb tiptoed quietly to the bathroom, being careful not to disturb his daughter, who had recently been in the habit of coming to sleep in the vacant spot in the bed, next to her father, in the middle of the night.
There being no need to turn on the lights in the small master bathroom, he shut the door gently behind him and began to run the water in the sink. Placing his tired hands in the stream of water, he cupped them together to allow them to fill with the cool water. The first several handfuls he swallowed down, in order to wash out the stale cotton feeling that had been left to develop in his mouth throughout the course of the night. He was a habitual snorer and most often slept with his mouth wide open, generating the obtuse sound of sawing wood, as it were. A final splash made its way to his face, followed by a swift rub of his hands over his eyes and face.
To be continued…