Bill Evans playing “My Foolish Heart.”
My son’s cheek.
The way my dog snores ever so slightly when he’s in a deep sleep, wrapped up in a blanket, beside me.
When the fire is going and it’s cold outside and the house is quiet and there is something warm in a mug and I sit, listening to almost nothing but silence fall over me.
Tiny twinkling lights.
The way he wakes me with coffee that has exactly the right amount of cream in it some mornings.
The hair of the child I saw through the window today.
5am in wintertime when everyone is still asleep but me.
Karen Leipziger’s laugh.
My reading spot.
Slanted sunlight in autumn.
Knowing that I have a person.
Love, when it is far away from dangerous.
Fog, when I am not driving through it.
My sister’s lemon chicken artichoke soup.
Coming out of a movie and seeing someone I know.
Solid-colored wrapping paper packages tied with twine.
Randy Newman singing “I think it’s Going to Rain Today.”
A single teardrop.
Hearing the tires hit gravel and waking up from a backseat nap.
The ornament from our first Christmas in this house
The way my son hums “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy.”
When your best girl does your hair for your wedding.
The memory of her.