The shadows play across the mountain in the distance every morning. The mountain has no shape any other time of the day, tree against tree. But in the mornings, the sun casts the peaks and valleys in varying shades of purple and gold. It’s breathtakingly beautiful and usually the call to get everyone out of bed.
“Shadows,” I announce. Two tiny feet trudge across the kitchen floor. Two larger feet shuffle quietly. On the best mornings, I intercept with a cup of coffee, passed like a relay baton.
This morning, the shadows were at their edges and the sun was already shining over the hill when Micah stepped away from the door-length glass and tore open the drapes on the kitchen window.
“Beautiful,” he said, straddling the open door of the dishwasher to get the best view.
“Can you close that?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. Without hesitation, he reached up and pulled the drape back over the window.
“Not that,” I laughed. “The dishwasher. But thanks.”
He opened the drapes again, shut the dishwasher door, and looked at me. We both laughed.
“You know,” I told him, pointing to the drapes. “That’s why this works. You would close those just because I asked you to. And yet, I would never ask you to.”
We laughed again. Because it’s true. Without a moment’s hesitation, without any sort of drudgery, without any question in his voice, he pulled those drapes over the majesty of the mountains beyond. Why? Because I’m his wife–his best friend–and he lives to make me happy. But I would never ask him to do something that would shut him off from the joys of this world. Why? Because he is my husband–my best friend–and I live to make him happy. That’s why this works.
In another few days, we will celebrate our eleventh wedding anniversary. In another few months, we will celebrate our twentieth year together. It hasn’t always worked like this. In fact, sometimes it hasn’t worked at all. But when it does work it’s exactly because of moments like this.
I’m participating in the 2015 Slice of Life Challenge at Two Writing Teachers.