I woke up this morning to four or five minutes of the most stunning sun rise. I watched it amazed, through a bit of a hangover acquired last night around the fire pit. I'm not sure if I need to remember much of that.
Today, my son revived my faith that the children will be okay. He had been counting the days on the calender for close to two weeks because today was the day that he was getting a game he had been wanting. At the check-out counter, his brother wanted some legos so he instantly put back one of the card decks with his game so that his brother could get the legos.
We need those moments more often, but when they come, they are bliss.
And now it's been nineteen hours since that sunrise, just more than a day since we sat by the fire pit drinking wine and roasting marshmallows. It's all covered with snow. An eerie orange light fills the sky, and I've opened the door several times to listen to the silence, silence only broken by the intermittent sound of cracking as limbs weighted with snow fall from their trees.