Thank you so much for your purchases during our sale. Thank you for supporting our family. It was a record-breaking few days for us! I love my work and I love you. We will be happily, busily stitching our way through November, for the love of place. THANK YOU.
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I finish up the night’s dishes by decisively abandoning mid-wash. The kitchen’s life darkens to near-black, the fire’s light rolls into the living room just lighting the deck – enough to see a smooth, even wash of white. The first snow.
My sleepiness dissolves into a surge. I am thankful for the little things that will forever feel child-like. Trampolines, river swims, dancing, snow, hugs from my mom. Ruby is asleep and Andy reads Margot the last page of the last book. She’s tucked under down, eyes heavy. Come on bug! I squeal. Andy raises his eyebrows and grins, wondering what I’m up to and knowing it’s something worth waking up our sleepy kid. Margot leapt into my arms and we ran into fat flakes that plopped on our cheeks and tongues.
The inch melts by the next afternoon and is replaced that evening. And the next. Each morning we wake to our brown and gray world washed clean. I regret not yet raking the leaves onto the garden, not yet sowing garlic, not yet planting those perennials I bought on clearance. But only a little regret. I know I can still make those things happen with just a little more difficulty.
On the third morning, it’s more than just a skiff. The snow is kickable, rollable. We turn our 20 minute-to-school walk into an hour of snowballs, snow angels and snow races. We are quite late but I know we are right on time.
Later that day, all that tangible fun — the snowgirl, the angels, the deer tracks, the snow-weeping branches — erases. But just because we can’t hold it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. And tomorrow promises more impermanent bliss.