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hay field

I had one of those moments – oh-so-fleeting – of pure happiness.

I was speeding home from a relaxed all-day barbeque with friends. My husband and the boys were in one car; Nora and I were in the other. We cranked the windows open and Abba’s “Dancing Queen” floated around us. The sun dipped towards the horizon. Rows of newly mown hay perfumed the air. A couple of donkeys and a herd of cows grazed in a field. “This is Vermont,” I thought.

I turned the radio down and caught Nora’s eye in the rearview mirror. “We had a wonderful day today, didn’t we?”

A small smile curved around her thumb. She murmured something.

“What’d you say, honey?” I asked, silently willing my five-year old to validate my unspoken sentiments.

“You’re welcome.” she said, as her eyes closed and her hand fell away from her face. “Thank you for coming.”


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