We can see our breath in the nippy December air. My nose is cold and I wrap my scarf around my neck once more.
I have my ever-enduring sister, Beth Anne, walk down the hill before me, pausing to freeze this moment in time.
“Oh, having to live with a photographer,” she teases over her shoulder as she walks. “Its almost as bad as living with a writer!”
I run to catch up, and we walk up the hill, chatting about Christmas, about our lessons, and the following kittens, feeling the joy of His presence.