A downy head fragrant 

 

With birth 

 

Snugged against my 

 

Neck. An infant nod, 

 

Balance askew and 

 

Exhausted with newness, 

 

Once more rests soft 

 

Against me. 

 

Through the window 

 

The sloping shoulder of our mountain, Fuzzed with Scrub Oak and reaching Pine,

 

awaits the turn from 

​

Winter drab to fulsome Spring-- Cloudy blue promising the 

 

Enchantment of Summer burn. Tiny fists bump unaware, 

 

Unpracticed persuasion sounding. Soft unveilings and

 

He attaches to my breast. The silencing sound of Swallows dazzle with Their own

 

glorious flights Of life renewed.