February 1, 2016

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Snow falling this morning, and yesterday, and into tomorrow, too, inch upon inch, each flake a single lively presence, bouncing and skittering down my sleeve, loud enough to hear. More sounds, cars hissing, the scrape of a shovel, the squeak of boots, a goose honking, then three, the creak of their wings in flight. Full winter and the crow squawking, the kingfisher gunning for privacy but only finding me, again and again. The eagle is the quietest, its mere presence more thunderous than us all.

The hubster and I took our engagement photos in front of the miner, so many years ago. Next week will mark twenty-five years since our first date, him in his rugby shirt and me in the cream-colored rayon with the Indian head buttons, eating pizza at Old Chicago. A long time. The best time. And now, back in Colorado, falling in love all over again, with him, with blue sky, with mountains and plains, and snow.

We found a house that we like, a real fixer, small and brick, wood paneling and a fireplace in the basement, a yard aching for some love and care. Think good thoughts.

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