This story is rated G for general viewing.
I look out over at the mountains from my chair on the farmhouse porch. The sky is filled with color, wonderful hues that barely light the green of the trees and the grass that lie below it. I can hear birds singing their last songs, and a deer moves at the edge of the forest. It is an awe-inspiring and beautiful sight. I will regret leaving it behind when we return to New York tomorrow morning. My sons feel the same, I know. Even Raphael, who loves the city, craves the quiet beauty of this place to heal his soul. I feel refreshed after time here, but now it is time we returned to our home.
I sip my hot tea, enjoying both the soothing taste and the fragrance which makes my whiskers twitch. Dinner had been lively, full of chatter, and I was glad to have a moment of quiet peace, one last of such moments before I returned to the constant confusion of the city. April had talked about her most recent assignment in the middle east, Casey and Raphael had argued enthusiastically about a variety of television-related topics, and Michaelangelo and Leonardo had engaged Shadow’s attention by playing with their food, a habit which seems irretrievably linked to my sons’ natures. Ah, youth. Had I once been that carefree? Yes, but that was a long time ago. Longer than I care to remember.
Everyone had been so animated and happy. Except Donatello. He seemed strangely withdrawn throughout the meal. I am used to Donatello’s seclusion, as he spends long hours at his computer or with his "gadgets" as he calls them, but this is the first time since we’ve been at the farmhouse when he remained unmoved even by Michaelangelo’s antics. I frown to myself as I ponder this. It is obvious that something troubles Donatello. But he evades my queries. And I suppose there are some roads which I cannot help my sons traverse. But I have always had the power to at least try....
I try to reassure myself that Donatello will be all right. Yet something within me says that he will not.