There is a soft quiet in the breath of a newborn. Hushed sighs as their lungs learn to breath: welcoming the air, the love, the sky.
What is it in us that longs to breath as they do? To sit mesmerized as we watch their tiny chests rise and fall as they bring in the air from our world? To softly embrace their tiny bodies, caress their sweet skin and smell their sweet scented heads? This gift of newness. The gift of unfolding. That despite the hardships and the struggle and the long sleepless night that bleed into bleary-eyed says, somehow, somewhere, they are our symbol of beginnings... And of hope.
And our small mark, our greatest art, that we share with this earth.