If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business because we'd be too cynical. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.

Ray Bradbury

Every night I sleep curled around my daughter. As I drift into sleep, the sensations that surround me are the feel and the scents of babyhood. The smell of her drifts against my nose: if its bath night, wafts of lavender-scent from her fuzzy head; if not, the scents of busy baby--most often the sweet smells of cracker-snacks and applesauce remaining on her hands and face despite the efforts of a warm washcloth clean-up. Her warm toes snuggle up in the fold between my stomach and legs and her chubby hands finally cease their ceaseless day movement to tuck against my breast and finally relax. These sensations--touch and smell--are prime, I rarely hear her quiet breathe and even at a year I still stop and reach for her, checking for the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she still breathes. We lay together, relaxed as a litter of puppies falling asleep in a pile on a soft bed.

  ¶ 9:20 AM