Just scooting open my little blog-house door today to let in the fresh, warm air we're having here, the birdsong, and to celebrate an especially spectacular day: half a year of being married! (Five months, four months, three months, two months and one month have also been cause for jubilation.)

Six months ago today, he became my husband, and every day together is supreme. He chooses to love me when I see nothing but fault with myself, he chooses to help me when I am too tired to clean up, he makes me laugh when I don't feel like it, and he listens to me when the subject under discussion is tedious. He holds me, and soothes me, and has shown me that love is patient. And, he makes me tea with honey when I'm blogging. I love him.

Although we find too many occasions to celebrate, we'll be having a fun dinner, and we stepped out into the sunshine for a jaunt down the beach this afternoon (ok, we do that every day). Almost all my West Sands walks have been with him; it just wouldn't be as swell without my sweetie splashing my wellies and swinging my hand and racing me to stomp on shells and saying that's beautiful.

After the gray haze yesterday, the clean skies and abundance of dogs and people and beach bubbles was like the world came to our door with a party. So, in true fashion, we lived it up.

I held onto his arm, and every once in a while pulled off at a scenic overlook to save some instants of bubbles drifting on the pure water, or a crease of froth lacing toward us,

or some wave foam running together and splashing in a hug.

We shed our coats, so our sun could feel the skin (I think that's how I said it), and then laughed at my words, because (sadly) that's normal.

For instants of walking into our garden and finding the usual bird taking his compost bath, and seeing our baby purple shoots, we love coming home.