it was the swan song of our year: a few sweet days tucked in the sleepy blue ridge mountains with some of our dearest. it was french press and big breakfasts and fog that rolled in and stayed for days. papas and boys skipped rocks at the river. mamas and babies hunted treasures. five little boys watched fireworks from the perch of the cottage window, like birds on a wire, all in a row. it was everything i love most in this world, or any world: a lively kitchen, voices we love, a kiss from my husband, a baby on my hip.
we woke and it was january, and another year i get to live the same days as the ones i love. this: my soul-closest and marrow-deepest gratitude.
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