Sunday morning

My boy went to his new job this morning, his first day there, and my girl left to return to school before the light was up in the sky, and now it's just my love and me, easy and undemanding, him watching soccer and reading on his Kindle and dozing, me visiting you all here, before I dive into the work that awaits me and I am happy to enter into it in this slow peaceful way.

It's overcast and below freezing outdoors, but wryly humorous and collegial indoors. Of course I miss my girl already, but she was happy and full of anticipation when she left this morning and you can't ask for much more than that. I've already tidied the house and cleaned up the tornado that happened in the kitchen last night, and my son will be back home this evening, ready to kick back after a full day at the sports club where he's working as an aquatics coordinator, and it will be sweet to walk by and cup my hand over the perfect curve of his head and listen to him and his dad joshing like the pals they are as they watch pre-Super Bowl football.

Those are our winter trees, so different from Mary Moon's majestic moss-draped cathedral trees in north Florida. We are so different from one another in this virtual place, both in the physical and in the circumstantial, and yet in other respects so very much the same. It is an endless marvel to me and one of the good and fortuitous things in my life that keeps me warm, and keeps me going.