Easter Sunday morning

I am not a morning person. Except, on the morning I lifted my head to see my two boys both sitting up in their beds looking through the uncurtained windows of our now bat-proof, but unlikely-to-ever-be-powered shack, windows through which I had, the night before and for several February nights, watched the waning moon rise, windows through which my boys were silently watching the sun come up over the almost-deserted bay where we have, and will, walk and fish and play and whose extremeties we will surely one day find…for that moment, while the soft round cheeks of the round-cheeked one glowed fading shades of gold, and the brown-eyed one held a pillow in his lap, for that particular moment, I was.

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