leaning

leaning

 

I’ve always been a leaner.

I remember, as a child, finding the soft hollow of my mother’s arms whenever the comings and goings of busy youth allowed me to slow down and nest for awhile.

I remember, as a young father, thrilling at the joy of holding my own babies…my own toddlers…my own budding explorers in the hollow of my arms. Feeling them nudge their way into embrace, pressing head against chest, drowsy arm draped across shoulder, breath slowing and syncing with my own.

Leaning….snuggling…embracing… I’ve always harmonized with that sweet melody.

As a freshly married man, one of my greatest, soul-filling joys is found in holding my wife in my arms. Standing toe to toe (hers atop mine, most of the time)…eyes searching…soft smiles interacting. The silent refrain of “I chose you…and I’m so grateful I did” hangs in the tight, contented space between us.

My sweet woman is a leaner, too.

At the end of a day, coming down from the busyness of midlife, when we come in for a landing and burrow beneath blankets in the quiet darkness, we find each other.

Head against head…fingers against face…legs interlaced…heaven glimpsed.

Through the night, as sleep patterns prompt tossing and turning and the reckless twisting of sheets and lumping of pillows, she reaches out to find me.
Her arms grab me…her legs snags me…her barely awake appendages wrangle me and pull me back to her.
To sleepily snuggle…
To drowsily drape…

To lovingly lean against the one I’m so grateful that I chose.

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