Standing in front of the woodstove, warming my early morning stiff muscles, caressing a warm Christmas mug full of good coffee, everything is still, quiet. A rush of emotion rises up through my chest, tightens in my throat and runs out in tears. I can see the children running, hear the babies crying, hear familiar sweet grown up voices....Motions like a dance. We were together. Such a precious time that is another layer of our family fabric. The threads weave in and out. I love this weaving we are doing together.
I begin to pick up papers, wash dishes and Christmas linens. I step on a frozen gummie, I find lines from the play the children performed, play shoes, forgotten clothes, keys. Papa's boingy cap hangs by the door. Yes, those emotions trickled up and out as I touched the left overs.