…a family that got up early because the day demanded a lot.

Work, school, household chores, the hustle and bustle.

Everyone went their own way, carrying their own thoughts, their own tiredness.

It was one of those long, cold days,
where you didn’t want to look out the window –
and longed for nothing more than a cozy home.

As evening came, the light softened.

The sky turned gold, then gray.

And at some point the door closed.

Everyone was back. Home.

Someone lit the fireplace.

The first crack of the wood was like a little promise.

The warmth crept slowly through the living room,
laid on the cold fingers,
in the cheeks,
into the mood.

Blankets were spread out on the couch.

Tea steamed in the cups.

Someone took sweet desserts out of the fridge,
and the scent of honey, vanilla and a little heart was in the air.

They talked.

About the day. About memories.

About nothing and yet somehow everything.

It wasn't a big moment.
Not an unusual occurrence.

But one of those evenings you remember –
because everything was just perfect.

Quiet. Warm. Safe.