The old house stood quiet under a pale morning sky. A little girl crept out of her room and down the hall.
Safa tiptoed into her mother's bedroom. Her mother was fast asleep, and a cup of tea sat on the table.
She pulled the quilt up to her mother's chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
At the kitchen table, Safa colored while the clock clicked. A bluebird tapped twice on the window.
Her last crayon snapped with a small snap. A floorboard creaked downstairs. Safa froze and listened.
Time to wake up, little sunbeam! Her mother's voice called from downstairs.
Safa dashed downstairs and nearly tripped on the welcome mat. Her mother scooped her up by the door.
Her mother wrapped her arms around Safa and twirled her in a big circle. Safa giggled on the rug.
Her mother carried Safa out into the backyard and lifted her high toward the warm sun.
Safa's toes almost touched the sunbeam on the grass. They laughed together under the bright sunshine.
Back inside, the broken red crayon lay forgotten on the kitchen table.
The house was full of morning light. And Safa's heart was full, too.
