The window shade was open.
Sleeping under the window, she lies there, silently.
The woods outside the window recall a Sleeping Beauty or a Snow White in all their woodland glory. Sleeping, she lies there, silently.
Soft skin.
Golden hair.
So sweet, I want pick her up in my arms and hold her so close we could burst into love.
The size doesn’t matter; two and a half feet tall or five and a half.
Still my child.
Still mine.
Still me.
At those moments, time stands still and waits for us.
It must. How else does a mother breathe?

~roo 8.8.10