Tucked In

It's snowing. It's snowing the kind of snow where it looks like there's a snow machine dropping fake snow from the sky. Pretty, fluffy, seperate flakes, falling quickly with no wind. Straight down.

Lots of time has gone by. There's been all that happens with each month and with each season. Swimming in the lake in August, arms moving through the water. Fireflies blinking on and off all over the hill behind the house. (Watching them knowing you're here in order to see them) Quick cold dunks in the ocean and the fresh start it always brought.

And when did summer turn to Fall? With its leaves flying the meaning of extravagance. With its crisp fresh breath. Was it when the darker evening wrapped itself closer?

Unexpected animals slipped into the stories of our days. The fox, the rabbits, the pheasants with their comic cowardly squacks and startled departures. Two days spent watching a new fawn learn to walk, its mother nervous and nearby. Its unsure legs and stubborn continuing.

November brought starkness and pared down the landscape to red berries clear and simple alongside cold walks. All the chilly elegance of frosts on windows.

December's bustle arrived made of wrapping paper, reds and greens, chocolate, ribbons, and a tall, surreal, red amaryllis. Snow sneaking back into the everyday until it belonged again on ledges and branches. Until we expected it for our footprints down the path from house to car.

Of course there's been something different amidst the rest this year. Nestled into the seasons and days was our baby growing: inside, snug, mysterious, shifting and kicking and listening.

Slowly I want to think over her arrival. Slowly I'll file away the details of her arrival.

It began like that though: tucked into seasons changing ever so slightly every day.