there is tiny tap, tap, tap dancing on the floors above us. she hasn't lived here in years, off to school and then career. we hear the tapping still though. the pit-tat, pit-tat, tats stutter breathy giggles into our ears. we hear it. day and night and all of those wondrous hours in between. It must be terrible for the hardwood floors, all that tapping. she hasn't been home in so long. still tap, tap, tapping. good morning taps and night-night pit tats.
dancing tiny tap feet, tapping us a song. our little tap-baby, no longer home.
