The night I met my husband, we sat around a campfire and talked late into the night. We saw shooting stars (or were they fireflies?), were startled by a tail-less cat, and started the fall into love.
The day my husband proposed, he took me back to the site of that campfire and asked me to marry him, and then we sat there and talked about our life together.
Not too long ago, we hit a bit of a rough patch. Trust was damaged, hearts were hurt, and things got hard.
This weekend, we went camping with a group of new friends. We sat around a campfire, talking into the night. We debated the influence of the Beatles (why anyone would dispute their status as the single most influential band ever is beyond me), we laughed at the puppy snoring in my lap, and we got to know each other. I caught glimpses of my beloved in the firelight, looking just as sexy as he did that night we met. I smiled when, asked about his top 3 favorite movies, I guessed every one. We walked through the dark to our tent, where we snuggled for warmth, heads under the sleeping bag, exhaling deep, hot breaths to heat the air inside. He wrapped his arms around me and told me how thankful he is, how lucky he feels that we have each other. That we get each other. That we love each other. I think that spark of gratitude might just be what we needed to get back into full flame.
Today’s post is inspired by the lovely Kyran Pittman’s question on her brand new blog, Planting Dandelions.
Side note: I’m in the middle of writing an epic paper on 14th century mystic Julian of Norwich, and it’s taking up a lot of my time. Please excuse my sparse posting as of late.