At first, the sound was subtle. A low, almost imperceptible tapping just on the edge of hearing, and yet, from the moment I heard it, the sound conjured that phrase: āThe patter of tiny feet.ā
I had always hated that expression, āthe patter of tiny feet.ā Even as a child, the words had sent a chill through me. I knew, of course, what they were supposed to mean, the joy of offspring, the sound of children in some other room or just out of view, playing merrily and creating said patter with their mischievous stumbling back and forth. In that context, it was a lovely phrase. An idiom that made others think of proud mothers seated downstairs as infants somewhere on the landing above giggled and ran between rooms. But that was for others...
