Cozy pj’s wrapped near the warmth
of an old brick fireplace;
alternating between a chick-flick
and a trashy socialite meaningless novel;
homemade bean and ham soup simmering
in a crock-pot
infused by the enticing scent
of chocolate chip cookies in the oven
while the snow falls hard
outside the window.
My children next to me,
cuddled in their youth,
at ease with the nothingness of winter
and the height of this mountain day.
This is the definition of harmony
purified by the earth’s whiteness,
the powdery substance that cushions the ground
surrounding the cloud of our home.
Laughter from a joke,
a cup of tea,
and the love inside the walls of our lives
all complete the transcendence
dawn-to-dark hours that make memories.