When I was pregnant with Cohen, I used to tell him stories.
I would rest a hand on the curve of his tiny back beneath my skin, close my eyes and lower my voice almost to a whisper. I would send feelings of utter peace through my blood, from my heart to his.
I don’t tell the stories the way I write them here. I don’t speak them word for word and they are a little different every time. I rest against their pillow and they curl around me and I just talk. About sunsets and snowflakes and the Great Connection.
There are no rules to storytelling; you can’t get it wrong.
Story is a gift that is free and pure and filled tall and wide with love. It is soul-talk, weaving ribbons of light around our home. We don’t have much of anything that anybody else would find impressive, but we have story and my heart is glad and glad and glad.
The sunset elf found a forever home this morning. I hope that the stories that I tell will follow him to his new life and bring magic to the lives of all he meets.
And I wish you abundant happiness, today and always ♡