Is it too late?

It is late
The kids are asleep and I should be
But I like to linger at this moment
This intersection of
Accomplishment and
Anticipation and
Quiet
I like to reflect on the day
While I listen to the crackle of the baby monitors
I like to choose the moment of my collapse into bed and
Not have exhaustion choose it for me
I like to fill up every minute
With something
Of my own choosing
I’d also like to be an eighteenth century fur trader
Tracking deer through the woods
Hopeful of seeing something for the very first time
The problem is that all too often
It’s not just late
It’s too late