We welcome the New Year on an old loveseat we’ve dragged beneath the bedroom window.
Out of nowhere, Chris laughs aloud about the way I used to bang furiously on the walls of our old farmhouse, to get the mice to quiet down so we could get some sleep.
Now here I sit, feet tucked beneath me and blanket atop, pausing a book to stare at the glacier outside. A bald eagle lands on a nearby tree branch, eyes level with my own.
What a life it’s been with you, my husband says.
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