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It was one of those perfect late summer afternoons that just begged for a nap in the garden. Not too hot with a balmy breeze that filled the air with the sweet smell of fresh mown grass and flowers.
Mister Smith lay on a green canvas hammock that swung gently between two large trees near the garden. His hands rested lightly on his infant son lying on his chest. Angus murmured and gurgled with interest as his eyes seemed to focus on a shimmering mote of sunlight on his father's shoulder. His small hand reached for the light, tiny fingers trying to close on it and bringing a loving smile to his father's face. When had he ever looked at a bit of sunlight and marveled at its simple beauty? When had he even noticed sunlight as something beautiful?
How many things would he see for the very first time, seeing them with the wonder of a child?
"I have a lot to learn from you and your sister," he said softly, gently running his fingers over the tiny membranes of Angus' wings. The baby wriggled his fingers and toes at his father's touch, so intimate and loving. He moved his head and now seemed to be staring at his father's chin. The little fingers reflexively fisted a few strands of reddish-brown chest hair and pulled as he wriggled, eliciting a wince from his living mattress.
A butterfly drifted past, just inches away from the baby's face. It seemed to hover, as if debating whether to land or continue on its way. Angus blinked at the Monarch's bright yellow and black wings and he cooed at it, a tiny smile brightening his face. Did he understand his kinship with this gentle creature?
The Monarch dipped, stirring the baby's soft hair with the movement of its wings, and then it was gone, drifting away on the summer breeze. Angus seemed to sigh with disappointment at its departure, or was it some inner longing to fly?
"One day," promised Mister Smith. He gently tickled the baby's wings one more time before lightly lacing his fingers over his son's lower back.
Sensing that it was nap time, Angus yawned then laid his head on his father's breast.
Mister Smith leaned foward and kissed him. "Daddy loves you," he said softly.
Mister Smith lay on a green canvas hammock that swung gently between two large trees near the garden. His hands rested lightly on his infant son lying on his chest. Angus murmured and gurgled with interest as his eyes seemed to focus on a shimmering mote of sunlight on his father's shoulder. His small hand reached for the light, tiny fingers trying to close on it and bringing a loving smile to his father's face. When had he ever looked at a bit of sunlight and marveled at its simple beauty? When had he even noticed sunlight as something beautiful?
How many things would he see for the very first time, seeing them with the wonder of a child?
"I have a lot to learn from you and your sister," he said softly, gently running his fingers over the tiny membranes of Angus' wings. The baby wriggled his fingers and toes at his father's touch, so intimate and loving. He moved his head and now seemed to be staring at his father's chin. The little fingers reflexively fisted a few strands of reddish-brown chest hair and pulled as he wriggled, eliciting a wince from his living mattress.
A butterfly drifted past, just inches away from the baby's face. It seemed to hover, as if debating whether to land or continue on its way. Angus blinked at the Monarch's bright yellow and black wings and he cooed at it, a tiny smile brightening his face. Did he understand his kinship with this gentle creature?
The Monarch dipped, stirring the baby's soft hair with the movement of its wings, and then it was gone, drifting away on the summer breeze. Angus seemed to sigh with disappointment at its departure, or was it some inner longing to fly?
"One day," promised Mister Smith. He gently tickled the baby's wings one more time before lightly lacing his fingers over his son's lower back.
Sensing that it was nap time, Angus yawned then laid his head on his father's breast.
Mister Smith leaned foward and kissed him. "Daddy loves you," he said softly.
