happiness and Kelsey

We had a 10-month-old goddess visit us over Memorial Day. She had secrets that couldn't hurt us and surprises that would change us, and was generous with her time. One by one we fell into her little songs, and became smaller and better for it. She forgave everything, touched the brightest colors and made quick notes on the rest, and dropped off to sleep without apology. She woke up with the smile of an awards judge bringing you the first place ribbon in the show of your life, and she knew us. We sat around and talked about all the ways we didn't know ourselves, and it dawned on us that what she knew about us was all that we needed known. She knew we loved her, and we were imperfect, and the darkness on the horizon was just one more night among a myriad of nights, it wasn't the end of the world. She knew the divinity of the cat and listened to the spirits of the house, remembering fiercely what we could not be trusted with in our old, panic-littered states. The colors of the geranium and the odor of the rainstorm were masterpieces in her fresh mind. For all her newness, she spilled an ancient fountain of life and the love of life upon us. We wept when she left, because we had not even in the grace of her moment with us known who she was, and we knew ourselves as never before, framed by the small perfect frame of her knowing us. Oh, we knew we would be known like that some day. Touched like that some day. And indeed we were.