My beautiful wife sleeps beside me (a cat curled up on her stomach), while outside the snow rages, making the houses across the street impossible to see. The snowflakes swirling under the streetlamp look magical, otherworldly.
Here, inside, safe and warm and snug, I type away quietly, toward the end of my holiday short story…that demanded not to be a short story, but to grow into a novella. I’m writing about love, found one snowy Christmas night, while writing next to the love of my life. This is the first time since our cat Kit’s death that I am utterly calm, content and at peace. It’s a good night indeed. ❤