I can't get over this, how it actually is snowing here. Right now. Nearly every day this week has been tainted with the white stuff. It never adds up and it never lasts long, but we sit at the kitchen table with a friend, talking about life and culture and adapting and learning and there it is again. Snow. We all laugh as we're all from America and it's not like we ever get enough here to need shovels or plows. But still, the weather is like this: slow cycles of drips from heaven. Wait a minute and it will change again.
We are in a sweet spot. A clean office/library/playroom, or whatever it's moonlighting as today. The books are put away, the lamp is on, the wee lad spins wooden toys on the floor. Matt pauses an extra second at the door before heading out, smiling my way. I catch his face in the glass. It's been a good morning, we are content, the snow has tapered and the children will be home soon.
We are living. There's not a moving box in sight.
He comes to me with a new creation, a story about his cartoon, a toy in his hand. He dances and shouts yes! with his hands. Today I want to dance, too, because I know tomorrow will probably be hard. Our moments of peaceful settlement are often followed by bits of frustration. It's our new rhythm, a slow cycle. Wait a minute and it will change again.
And it's ok. I'm recognizing it now.
Asher kisses me, grabs my arm. Glancing outside for one last look and the snow is gone. Rain has come. I've been sitting here too long and it's time to play.
Linking up with the EO and Just Write. I'm needing to do this more. With the boxes put away, I've no excuses left.