The breeze sitting on my parents back porch seems like the best breeze that there ever was. One like I’ve never experienced. No breeze as beautiful, quiet and comforting. Not the breeze alongside the ocean, not on the top of a mountain. Just the breeze there on a back porch in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Is that because it’s the same breeze that would lull me to sleep as a baby? The one that swirled around me during my first kiss with my high school sweetheart at the side door? The same one that I would inhale so deeply the cool summer nights after moving back in with my parents after graduate school? The same breeze I smelled rocking my first loves – my nieces – in my arms? The breeze that swept my own baby girl off to dreamland our first weekend sleepover at Mom Mom and Pop Pop’s? It’s like a little tap on the shoulder reminding me that all is well in the very moment that it dances across my face and wisps into my lunges. A reminder that things are as they should be and my only job is to enjoy it.


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