Robert Frost Farm, New Hampshire

Braedon read the poems aloud as the floor boards creaked under our feet. His voice adding a whole new level of love to the words already held so close to my heart. Lily brought her camera and so thoughtfully captured moments and items that called to her. The butterflies on the quilt, the typewriter keys, the shadows beside the curtains.

Halfway through our time there, I realized I kept holding my breath.

I think part of me wanted to somehow keep Robert Frost's ghost in my lungs as long as possible.