Peace

It’s Sunday morning. I am snuggled in bed with my two month old baby. Outside the window, the pure white snowflakes fall gently against the backdrop of the red garage siding, dusting the snowy landscape with a fresh layer of brightness. In the kitchen my husband is making coffee. The aroma of the freshly ground coffee beans is familiar and comforting. A big snowflake sticks to the window pane for just a moment, as if pausing to allow us a closer look, then blows off, falling to the ground. My baby yawns, his arms stretching up above his ears. He looks at me with tired eyes. He smiles sweetly, his eyelids are heavy. I hear the tsk, tsk of a whisk in a mixing bowl coming from the kitchen. He is making breakfast. My baby is asleep on my chest. Our bed is warm. The scents of maple syrup and coffee mingle as they float through the house. It is a perfect, peaceful Sunday morning.