The air is fresh and cool and crisp; the snow clings to the trees above me. All I hear is the wind and the crunch of my feet below me. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The mug of tea sits cold on the table; words and characters and story have swallowed up all my focus. My mind whirrs with delight after each sentence it devours. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
A heavy coat, scarf, and hat lighten into just a jacket, then no layers at all. Tulips, daffodils, irises line the sidewalks, and the sun, the sun, the sun is back. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The laugh starts with one friend, then fills the room. By the end, we’re hiccuping and unsure how to stop. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The music swells, then the lyrics I know appear embodied in an actor, a real person on the stage. He stands alone, and still I am in his story even despite the yards between us. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The tiny sprouts spread green across the planter, then grow from saplings to skyscrapers. Flowers lengthen into fruit, and fruit and leaves and roots turn into meals. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The conversation turns from hopes to fears to hilarity and back again. We have known each other for years, and yet our words are new. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
I pull a sweatshirt over my suit and push my shivering feet into the sand.The tiny glowing arc has almost sunk into the horizon, into the waves. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
Cinnamon and nutmeg and cardamom fill my nostrils; orange and gold and brown and red fill the trees. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The night is quiet, and most of the world has fallen asleep. I watch the candle flicker, steady and warm as the words of the psalm in my mind. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
I tally my score, then smile as I realize that—of course–my sister has worked out a way to win, yet again. We clap, then start planning a rematch. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
I sink one fist, then the other into the dough. Punch, punch, pull, turn; now I wait for the yeast to do its work. How could I have forgotten how much I love this?
The air is cool and crisp; the snow clings to the trees above me. All I hear is the wind and the crunch of my feet below me. How do I remember how much I love this?

Courtney Zonnefeld graduated in 2018 with a degree in writing. She currently lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she works for Eerdmans Books for Young Readers. In her free time, she enjoys reading, baking, and saving up for more herb plants. You can usually find her wandering a farmer’s market, hunting for vintage books, or browsing the tea selection in coffee shops.