Before the goldens and crimsons of autumn,
ahead of the early frosts and woolen scarves,
There is another show, a grander spectacle,
its beauty steals my breath and owns my heart.
The march of rolls and dimples, and of babbles and coos
begins anew, purposeful and swift it goes, I stand and watch,
every so often giving chase as the baby I have known,
sweet flesh and magic, fades away,
a gentle morning mist slipping away to sea,
as the brilliance of a new day slowly crests.
Her sapphire eyes reflect a new dimension,
understanding and questing, a challenge and a promise.
Once small and anchored in the richness of her cheeks,
they now dominate her face and penetrate my soul.
Absent are the blurred edges and muted colors,
less water color, more intimate sculpture, still magnificent,
more intense, defined and striking, bursting with life.
A part of me mourns the departure of baby and newness,
like a lover leaving in the morning, there sits a sorrow,
a longing for the cocoon of firsts, of impenetrable focus.
Yet I feel a hunger for the intensity of yet-to-be,
of conversations and of milestones.