Saoirse's eyes...
Two weeks of taking in what must have seemed at first awfully bright visual sensory input have sharpened to the high end of chiaroscuro definition. With my own windows of the Soul open and taking her in, those yellow-flaked blue orbs causing neuron fire for synapse construction over the light-and-dark contrast of the ceiling fan blades.
Total absorption in the thing; not defining it, mayhap not even knowing, thinking or caring to try. Just taking it in, OBSERVING it.
Freedom... Saoirse is, I'm told, a parallel in the Irish language.
Too young to let either reflections of the 'past' or worries of the 'future' mar the Present.
There's a lesson there.
Think I'll go hold her again and watch the birds eat. I'll stand there in what, when we see adults doing it, we call 'daydreaming'. We've suppressed that this is the key to learning: the total, non judgemental Zen-observation of our first days...
Slainte, folks.
Cygnus
