A Moment in Time
There were snow flurries last night. Winter was not yet ready to part so she stood at our door, waving her cold winds towards us, powdering us with her white snow for just a few moments in time. It reminded me of the guest who is reluctant to leave.
This morning the air was frigid by comparison to what we have been feeling. I drew my shawl tight. The woodstove tenderly brought back to life by my husband before he went to work. A kind and loving gesture for his "girls" that were still sound asleep. We woke to a warm fire, but chores needed to be done in the cold.
When all was done outside and a bit of playing with Fergus complete, I headed inside. The smell of mesquite wood burning, the warmth of the house growing more intense as I walked towards the living room. The kitchen still chilly.
Sitting on the little stool by the woodstove sat Melanie, dressed in cozy flannel p.j's with Hello Kitty all over them.
She had just put on another log, this one a bit long so the door needed to stay open for a few minutes so that the wood would not touch the window of the stove. I sat cross legged on the floor next to her. Nothing was said, just a silent moment of togetherness, mother and daughter. She and I took our turns poking the big log trying to get it to fit. Softly laughing when each attempt failed. My arm slipped around her back, a mothers touch. Heads leaned in to one another. No words, just a silent moment of togetherness by the warmth of the stove. Now, incense burning, soft music playing, the door of the stove closed as the end of the log burned off. The stool empty. The moment captured now in our memories, held there to be cherished as an ordinary moment with extraordinary feelings of mother daughter love.
What more could I ask for... another daughter home, sitting on the other side of me, that's what more I could ask for. I made a video clip of the fire burning, and sent it to Melissa in Vermont. She can sit with me in cyber space, enjoying the fire on this cold spring morning. A silent moment of togetherness, mother and daughter.
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Judy L.