The four of us are piled on the king bed in the master bedroom at the cabin. Watching the new Care Bears movie on Netflix (although I admit I'm not following it closely), snuggling in our pj's under the patchwork quilt. We're eating our dessert of amazing peanut butter cookies from the bakery, and I can see the crumbs gathering on Rowen's cheek as I look down. Outside the sliding door that leads onto the deck, the sky still glows over Grandfather Mountain as the day fades, and I feel the mild evening breeze brush my face. This is the magic hour here. I lean my cheek on a sweet-smelling, still-damp head and literally feel the glow of this moment. It's so peaceful, so utterly magic and full of blessing I can hardly believe it's me here experiencing it. The utter stillness of this few minutes is made more still in contrast to the week we've just left behind. Work and school and change. So much change. But tonight - tonight is perfectly, blessedly motionless. Memory, please never let this moment fade. Hold it, captured like no possible photograph could, in sound and smell and feeling, forever. I will never experience this exact moment again - my kids will grow, time will flow on, and things won't ever be this way again. But I can't grieve that, having been here so wholly tonight, really savoring. It may never happen again, but it happened just now - like taking a perfect photograph with all my senses at once. Click. And mine forever.