Sunshine streams in the window, on daughter, lying on a muslin blanket her grandma gave her. The blanket is white with pink and blue flowers and speaks to me of a different time, where babies were swaddled in muslin instead of sleep sacks.
Daughter’s eyes are fixed on something above her. Her arms and legs pump in their shaky baby way as she has an animated, one-sided conversation with the ceiling, the lamp, maybe, or angels overhead.
A Thousand Tiny Gratitudes 