Mothers

Jessica sat at the window and watched the snow fall in soft flakes onto the distant mountain. January in Vermont was a test; who could outlast the gray skies with a smile, and an eye turned toward spring. April would arrive on paper and in person this year. As she stirred her cinnamon and orang flavored tea, her belly fluttered, and a movement in the distance caught her eye. Across the meadow, a female moose emerged from the forest to drink at the lake. Jessica smiled. We are both mothers, biding our time, waiting for spring to birth itself again.

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