A tiny hand envelops his father's thumb
sensing the future through the ribs of his fingerprint
Holding it with a natural confidence
despite months of grasping through an ocean of fluid
longing for connection
His mother's hair tickles his nose
it crumples
he sneezes
she laughs
he looks
she stops
He is theirs completely
A bond
no one else could ever understand
could never fully comprehend
it is as unique as a snowflake cut from Nature's hem
Their voices bounce off his heart
the echo calms his soul ensuring him he is home
They speak of an angel
he searches their eyes
the reflection of his silhouette shifts in the light
He answers with a visceral tale of garbled glee
bubbles blossom from between his lips
Mother guides his tiny hand to cradle her cheek
closing her eyes
she breathes into his hair
translating his monologue of innocence
They now know the meaning of life
As simple as their bond is profound
The meaning of life is not only in the palm of their hand
it is holding it...
Article originally appeared on Fried Nerves Blog (http://www.moanavida.com/).
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