When my love is here, I set the alarm 30 minutes earlier than I need and the simple pleasure of being together, warm and sleepy, is the strongest argument for gratitude I have yet to find.
Then it's coffee, with maple syrup and milk and a pitcher of warm water from the sink, one in each hand and out to the barn. The dog has been waggling his hips since I put on my boots and he bursts out the door, vaulting into the air, jumping feet off the ground and racing through the snow.
The ladies don't want to come out of the coop, but I sprinkle meal worms and seeds in their geodesic dome yard and lift the door. Inside, I give them fresh water and fill the empty pitcher with whatever eggs might be in the boxes. There will be more at the end of the day.
When I can, the dog and I walk down the road. Trees bent heavy with snow and the muffled air of winter is broken only by his racing and barking at squirrels. Sometimes deer start and bound through the woods onto the open plains north. Or we walk to the neighbor's, bringing extra eggs in exchange for a sticky hello from the baby and a chance to pet the kitten if she lets me catch her.
Elegance is simplicity, presence is strength. Of all the journeys in life, my favorites are when we come home.
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