It’s cold. And I’m a baby. So I really want to whine and cry about the weather, you know?

But I’m learning love this month, and on a Sunday afternoon on a cold, beginning-of-winter day, I love my home for its warmth.

In fact, I might just stay here until Spring.

My husband could pick us up milk or whatever from time to time. I could make that work.

I could so easily be a hermit.

Today, I’m loving my home for its warmth. The heat that fights hard against the chill winds rattling my windows. The murmur of my husband visiting with my middle son and his friend at the kitchen table, while they drink hot chocolate. And a text from my oldest boy, in the city working for a couple of weeks. He’s having a great time, but we miss him. Warmth.

And the fun of knowing my youngest is probably going to be the cutest zombie at the zombie walk this afternoon. He was so excited to go with his friend to the town Hallowe’en party. I hope someone takes pictures. He’ll come charging in the door soon, and he’ll have had too much junk food and he won’t want to take off his zombie makeup. Warmth.

Yeah, it’s cold outside. But this home offers warmth, in all kinds of ways. So if I do have to leave at some point during the next several months, I will take comfort in the knowledge that my warm home will be waiting to embrace me when I return.

(Oh, and I think it’s probably safe to put the lawn mower away, now.)

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