And again, with love and hope.

I sit with my face to the embers. The glow of the tree lights intruding from the right. My face: an ember, reflecting the heat of the ashes and the light of a past holiday.

I crouch beside the stone and carbon. My skin: hot and tight, pulling me into this moment. This marked occasion. This passing of instants in a torrent of glimpses and gleams.

The final fire of the year, but not the season. With hopes this was the final visit of a lengthy season, for it certainly is the last of the year.

We are home. Again. On the Eve of a holiday. Again. We are so grateful. Again.

The village around our little family is diverse in its connection, makeup, and geography, but our being home is truly thanks to each individual within.

The second trip to the hospital this week was harder. The first trip I was calm; I was grounded; I was ready.

This trip, I was not… at first. I found my feet before, I hope, she noticed they’d been knocked out. She, true to form, was nothing short of inspiring.

Here’s to a new year, for each and all of us and every other’s A year full of love, inspiration, health, knowledge, persistence, care, and untethered support.

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All of my sweet peas.

We had a bit of a scare this week. A third pediatrician’s appointment turned into a direct admit at the Children’s hospital. A hard three days and two nights full of only best-case-scenario outcomes and we came home yesterday.

This Christmas, I am grateful for the health of all of my sweet peas. Least of all, these ones:

Soft light covers

I didn’t sow any snow peas this year… odd.

They didn’t mind their light blanket so much as their bean neighbors did. A small final harvest, but I marvel at any bean harvest in December.

The volunteer cherry tomato plant weathered the frost, so those will not be the last winter bites of tang.

And skeptical of the forecast, my love harvested the limes. Twenty two in all and when he unwrapped Bill the next day, he was no worse for the wear…including a few incognito limes left hanging.

I do hope the butterflies will return to the lantana. There was a true kaleidoscope of them alight upon the blossoms some days.