This Chapter

I've been too sick to run lately, and it's been too cold to hike with the kids. I was starting to go a little crazy.

So I paid a quick visit to my happy place.

I usually make the journey on foot, sans camera. But the cold in my head and the cold in the air demanded I drive. And like a neurotic good little blogger, I keep my camera in the car.

This could be the last Christmas (ever or for a long long time) that we spend in Maine. I'm trying not to already miss it. The way I already miss Dani saying "swimmin' soups" and Caed singing Auld Lang Syne.

I know change is good, especially when it's the kind that moves our story forward. But there is something about a page turned, especially one so thoroughly read, earmarked and tattered, that brings my eyes to a blurring stare. And in all the anticipation about the next page, in all the nostalgia of the last, sometimes I can scarcely read a word.

I want to keep reading, to keep turning pages. But today, in this small chapter called Christmas 2009, I am going to rest right here, and listen to the silver swells.

I'm going to rest right here, and watch the snow and sand go overboard with all glitter and no glue.

I'm going to rest right here and feel the sting of winter sun, bouncing off snow and into my eyes.

I'm going to rest right here, and let the story unfold without fanfare.
Like a branch without accessory. Just happy to be included.
I'm going to rest right here until it's time to turn the page.