Seasons Speak

They stand on longer-than-she-can-believe legs, possess defined jaw lines, cheek bones, composure. She studies each feature, especially those beautiful eyes.
Her older son flashes a crinkle-nose grin.
“Mooom, what?!” her younger son giggles, squirming.
“I’m grateful I get to be your mother,” she offers, smiling.
Content, they turn back to an unconventional chess game. Little brother plays to act out scenes from Knight’s of the South Bronx. Older brother aims to win. He will, they all know this from the start. No one cares. Least of all little brother. He enjoys his adored sibling’s attention.
Laptop across her knees, she wonders, “Are there any words left?”
Winter, a strange blessing, calls, “Slow down.”
She pulls a blanket around her shoulders and begins to write.

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