Today, first Saturday after Thanksgiving, as tradition holds, we headed to the tree farm. It isn't always the same one...the tree farm, but it's always a farm and never a lot, a tree lot that is.
The drive was winding and swerving through the hills of North Plains, several miles from where we lived. Forests and fields filled these soft farmlands with familiar comfort and majestic awe. I always love this drive and love the fact that its only minutes from our home, close enough to regard it as home.
The air was stiff with chill and we were still recovering from below freezing temps from the days prior. We finally landed to our destination and all filed out with hand saw and bundles of coats, jackets, and hats.
But this particular day, I wondered if I had bundled them tightly enough. The poles seemed to squeeze more tightly upon us, and I realized why I never got into snow skiing. By the way, I love to water ski and basically "popped" up upon my first try...at least that's what I remember. But I wondered if I ever would take up snow skiing...ahh, I'm reminded now.
And on this particular day, Gabriel skipped along the path and then stopped short in his step. He searched around and realized the air around him had seemed a bit lower and a bit heavier than he remembered. And he noticed something he had never noticed before.
Then I giggled to myself as I marveled over his marvel. In his pause, Gabriel gasped and blew out...gasped and blew out...then wide eyes watched what floated gently from between his lips. Soft puffs of white streamed sweetly and dissipated magically away.
Ahh...Gabriel had discovered his breath. And, I, in that moment, gave thanks for the One who gave him his very breath.
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