ebullient

he has a heavy step, my brother.  made only louder by cross country ski boots as he tiptoes (lumbers?) up the stairs to wake me for our sunrise skiing.  i jump out of bed and get dressed.  he is already outside and has set up my skiis and poles.  i click in and we race across the field.  the snow is crusty and slick and, as usual, i'm a little wary of falling, but i do my best to keep up with his long, smooth stride.  when we get to an icy, uneven patch, he waits patiently as i moan, "i can't get over this!"  but i can and i do and we sail along,  thrilled by the sun rising warm and brilliant in front of us.  when we stop for a picture, we laugh and marvel at the sparkling snow, the birdsong all around us ("a red bellied woodpecker," he says).  and i am grateful for all these little moments of pure happiness, when everything seems just right.