Jessica sat at the window and watched the snow fall in soft flakes onto the distant mountain. January in Vermont was a test; who could outlast the gray skies with a smile, and an eye turned toward spring. April would arrive on paper and in person this year. As she stirred her cinnamon and orang flavored tea, her belly fluttered, and a movement in the distance caught her eye. Across the meadow, a female moose emerged from the forest to drink at the lake. Jessica smiled. We are both mothers, biding our time, waiting for spring to birth itself again.
Mothers
Oct 22, 20201 min read
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