Alive

Wiping down the last counter.  Turning off the light over the kitchen sink, to say goodnight.  It's the third of March as I watch the brilliant white snow falling onto the thick ground cover that's been there for months.  This is the time of year we yearn for mud puddles to appear and the sap to begin it's yearly run.  This is the time of year that late night snow might not feel right.  A few months ago I would have watched that same snow falling illuminated by the soft glow of the moon with a feeling of warmth and shelter on our home.  I would have felt joy with the urge to hunker down and wrap my baby up in cozy blankets, while sipping warm tea by the cook-stove.  Tonight, I felt complacent.  As to say this white stuff would be here forever.  Tomorrow will be white and the day after that.  As I opened the fridge to put away the last pumped bottle of the night, the harsh commercial glow stopped me.  It is in  the deepest part of winter that I yearn for spring.  In the constant flow of muddy boots and dog prints that I look for summer.  During the hottest days of weeding the garden and eating yet another dinner of green beans that I look for the changing of leaves to show me autumn is upon us.  We all do this.  Looking for and feeling the seasons change.

So tonight, I stopped.  I took a deep breath and felt thankful for that breath.  I took a moment and watched the perfectly unique white flakes falling ever so lightly upon our brook.  Instead of using up the space in my mind to plan tomorrow and all that is to be done, I tip-toed upstairs and tucked my sweet baby in just a tad bit tighter.  I stood in his room, looking out his window and remembered last year at this time we were beginning to share the news of our baby on-the-way.  I thought I could never be happier.  This year, the snow is falling and this little guy is sleeping peacefully, happily in his crib.

Sugaring season is here.  Soon we'll be watching our small babe crawling in the grass.  Soon we'll be singing happy birthday to him for the first time.  Yesterday, I spent hours trying to figure out the best way to sooth him in his two week old body.  The day before that I birthed him while autumn leaves covered the ground.  Time is relative.  Time is precious.  We're here until we aren't.  Tonight, I'm not taking one drooly-gummy smile or perfect snowflake for granted.  Tonight, i'm alive.