Henry

                                                          Born on the Nineteenth day of April, 2015

 

                                        Sent from above,

                                       And born into love

                                    With potential abound.

                                    We do not know you,

                                     Yet we already do.

 

                                     You are perfect,

                                      You are small,

                                You need us to do it all.

                             Perfect skin, soft and clear

                                    Eyes wide open,

                                   You sense us near.

 

                             We love you beyond compare

                      From your big man feet to your head of hair!

                        Loving child, you’ve brought such joy.

                          Behold oh world---our little boy!

 

"Mid pleasures and places, though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home." ¬ John Howard Payne

Up, up,up and away! A little bubble, perfectly formed, takes flight from it’s home in the warm familiarity of my brand new kitchen sink. An unremarkable event but my eyes catch it and it distracts me from my fairy liquid induced state of mind. I’m not sure why this little escapee makes me notice but as I follow it's journey upward I am suddenly motionless...

 It is quite a perfect thing, is a bubble. The delicate film of iridescent colour invites me in to the perfect airy world inside, a sanctuary from outside forces and with the long forgotten enthusiasm of a child I begin to will it on, on its’ journey, wishing for it not to burst. I watch and wait for it to explode and vanish into thin air, any second now, any second, just wait, but no.......it floats- like hope. For what seems like an age I follow this bubble as it dances this way and that before it gently begins its’ downward descent to its’ final resting place, proudly atop the sudsy capped mountain from which it left. Then suddenly PLINK !- gone.

There is a very particular feeling of child-like glee one feels, or at least should feel when watching a bubble rise and soar. I remember this feeling as a little girl and how I never wanted my bubble to burst. I too have glided and travelled to many beautiful places and I have loved and lost but I am very glad to say that my hope still floats and my bubble still dances with this wonderful delicate thing we call life. My hot and tingling hands beckon me back to the task at hand and I finish cleaning my dirty dishes.

It’s Sunday morning and I am very much at home.