We are in the minivan, and Wife notices trees outside a store, trees with leaves made of lights, lights that slowly change color from emerald to scarlet to the richest purple. We’ve all been a bit glum, now that the trees and lights and wreaths have all but disappeared from the city. These trees of light are breathtaking. “It’s boo-tiful,” Baby Isaiah says softly. “Mama, we can dance together.”

Whenever he sees something boo-tiful, his instinct is to dance. I want to be more like him.


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