a long hard day saps the strength, leaving caverns that naps can't fill.
today, you had such a day. knee-deep in snow, seeking tractor teeth, parts, lifting and laying down a thousand pounds of never-what-you-needed.
a hard day at home too - sick baby, gnaw of worry.
instead of laying your weary bones down, instead of eating a warm meal, instead of sinking glad into your book, you came with us hungry to the clinic.
it was almost too cliche, the waiting room. bare misery under fluorescent light, the rest of the world snow-wrapped and lamp-lit, tasting homejoys and supper.
small son squirmed from my lap to yours and back again.
between his visits, your head slipped forward, eyes closed, breath soft. sleep.
i held his hands and walked him around the crowded room, and every time he saw your face, he laughed and called out.
your eyes pried open - red, unfocused, heavy - settled on him, and crinkled into warmth. he leapt joyously into your arms over and over.
your arms always open, your eyes holding back sleep to give him comfort, to be with him, even on this hard day.
on this hard day
i love you.