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A Cold New Years Day.
Bitter chill in the air.
Warmth at home.
We spend the day at home, doing nothing in particular. But it is the most special kind of nothing.
I load up the car with donation stuff your Mom has been gathering.
While Mom runs to Yaya's house, the three of us drive to Goodwill.
You help me unload the old coats and clothes and glasses and toys and hand them to the young woman manning the donation truck.
Piece by piece we shed our households belongings, hoping that the the donations help someone else.
We pile back in the warmth of the car and head home.
As we pass the White Rock Lake, shimmering with the reflection of the year's first sunset, I take quick poll: "Do y'all want to go home or drive around the lake a bit and look at the birds."
The vote is unanimous.
We turn off Mockingbird and down onto the lake path.
We drive slowly around looking at the few bundled-up people walking their dogs, looking at the birds floating in the cold, calm waters.
We park to take it all in.
You both spot the grounded birds at the same time and ask if you can climb out of the car and chase them.
The decision is unanimous.
In the chilly cold air, you run after the birds, forcing them to take flight.
Despite the temperature and a few skinned knees, you also took flight into the new year. Disappearing into the golden January sky for moments at a time.
Giggling and whispering and running.
And returning to me...and we, in turn, returned to our home and to your Mommy.
Then we all went to get tacos.
