When the baby slips, warm from the womb, from a familiar
wetness to the moisture of its mothers thighs, its eyes alight.
Bright and clear, wonderful and wandering.
It knew where it was
going long before it came.
I watch the baby, pale blue but changing, toes tinge pink
and spread a little in anticipation of what its wrinkled skin might touch.
Colour reaches arms, chest, face, and the eyes that were before such a glow in
a sea of cool coloured flesh are now matched with a body awash with the same
dazzling life.
Eyes meet eyes, breath is shared in a harmonious inhale as
mother and infant regain the rhythm of unity that they have shared for so many
moons.
This is the moment that all have waited for. In the dimness
of the birthing room, the air scented with the sweetness of amniotic waters and
new beginnings, an old soul has entered the world again and the memories of his
past illuminate him. Not visible to all but there nonetheless, the mother and
child shine silver and pink and gold. A searching mouth finds its habitat and
nuzzles, liquid gold starts a little and halts; begins again to ease out and
nurture the baby in the sort of tiny volume that is as precious as water in the
desert.
When the baby slips, warm from the womb, not coerced or
forced but calm and free, from a familiar wetness to the warmth of its mother’s
embrace, the world stops turning for a second and the sun, moon and stars hold
no comparison to the dazzle of the duo who knew each other long before their
fingers touched.
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