Tiny fingers and toes

We watch the sparkling dust motes in the beam of sunshine. Our faces sparkle. Later, I watch their faces as they sleep. The air is warm and cuddles these sleeping children.

So often children smile in their sleep, or they move their lips – pursing, pouting, scrunching. What do they dream?  The air swirls around the breath of sleeping children. They exhale and the swirls move outward, they inhale and the swirls disappear.

Curling fingers twitch around a worn and comforting blanket with tattered satin. Sometimes plump fingers reach out for dream images. Do they reach forward for their angels or back, trying to find that comforting womb from whence they came?

Tiny toes crunch up and then run wildly in their baby dreams. Blood and cells pump life into tiny limbs. Awake, wide round eyes blinking and twinkling. A new and wondrous day runs down the stairs in footie pajamas and squeals to wake up this new day. Peach-fuzzy skin and fat bellies with tiny buttons. Smiles burst forth into tinkling giggles. Fat rose-petal cheeks blowing bubbles. Arms that wrap around your legs and make you tumble, and create tears of joy.

Sometimes the face of life has dark hair and dark lashes and reminds me of a baby thirty years ago. And other times it is blonde with fair lashes and reminds me of a full life and total bliss. But each time a child blinks, that child sees a promise.

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