Your front yard
You live a couple of hours south of me, so even though I’ve had first snow, you have not. The first snow of the year fell on your birthday, and it continued on into the next day. Your back steps got so icy that two of your grandparents had falls (they were both okay), so your Nana spread rock salt all around to keep everyone safe. Your family is referring to you as “Snow Princess” now. In fact, your Aunt Anna and Uncle Robert got their first snow in Michigan on your birthday too – 12 inches’ worth! I think you’ll have a snow child legacy, which suits your birth date, for now anyway. Who knows what climate change will do to November 11th in southern Maine by the time you get to the 22nd century.
You continued to dazzle hearts today. Just holding the warm, swaddled bundle of you in our arms flooded us with…endorphins? memories? tingles? a systemic pulse of well-being, down to the fingertips. I could watch your shifting expressions for hours, knitted forehead, raised eyebrows, tiny mouth going even tinier into a round dot of a pout, sucking movements. Better than television. Your Mom recorded a minute of your hiccups last night. You are quite the celebrity around here.
I love you more every day.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 77: 218 words, TOTAL = 12,802; 47198 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.