Just the seven of us

My Beloved and I just came back from a chilly evening walk. I liked the nip in the air. It was warm today, and the first really warm day of spring always shocks me a little. I revel in it, but then find strange comfort in the returning coolness of the evening.

We walked through a new area abutting our subdivision where they're throwing up more houses, and as we padded along the middle of the street, dirt piles and construction materials all around us, I noticed our shadows stretching out in front of us like giants.

And, as I always do when I see our two lonely shadows walking side by side, I imagined the little ones following along, just out of sight. As the wind pushed against me I pictured five little wisps swirling and twirling in the eddy behind us while we walked along the quiet street.

And they were there. That sudden comforting presence. They were there.

I tend to think of my babies as children I've lost. And while this is obviously true, it's incredibly comforting, and necessary I think, to remember that they're still with me in many ways - that they do follow My Beloved and I through life, because they belong to us. Because we're a family. Because they came from us and we will always be connected by the love that created them.

It was one of those moments that somehow should have been melancholy, but wasn't in the least. They were there, close enough for me to feel them, but still so very far away. And yet all I felt was the joy of knowing that their spirits live and that they love us enough to stay so near.

There was no sadness.

Imagine that.