To be aware of all that we can take in, to sense it, smell it, to understand it, we must listen, observe, perhaps identify how much we don't know. The clouds seem to nurture, comforting us. The rose grows to the clouds, it is its task, its standard of value, it knows no other. Yet in its passion to get there it is admired, others feel and can remember its smell forever. It is remembered and thought well of with often a private smile, and it is prized. We struggle daily to obtain such lofty acclaim.
I was on the way to the hospital, my daughter was in labor, she was going to have a baby girl, a daughter. It was a new creation of the most wonderful type. Rounding the turn toward the Ferry Landing was the most improbable and beautiful sunset beginning to take place. It was as if it was specially arranged for in honor of her coming arrival. Hastily I attempted to catch it in a picture. While the camera did not capture the beauty, the eyes did. And, like the Rose, will remain forever in the mind.
Be I so privileged to never forget the complete wonder of the moment, never stated so eloquently and precisely as one grasps the bond between sisters, mothers and child, and journey together. I told a cashier that my daughter had a baby, and her face reddened, eyes wide and such an angelic smile and knowing took hold of her. In just seconds you understood so much, felt such love and amazement from the knowledge of what happened, and so great a gift to the world.