The young woman had come prepared. As she climbed onto her motorbike, I noted that there was something attached to her chest, and that what was attached to her chest was a baby. It was tucked into a sort of backpack arrangement, head and arms sticking out as if from the shell of a tortoise. It was a small baby, maybe 4 months old. I don't know, I've forgotten what 4 months is like, or 2 months, or 6 months. This was a girl, I think. Yes, I'm sure. Pretty sure. And she did that thing that all babies do. She engaged me with her eyes, staring at me as if I were the most strange and wonderful creature in the world. Blue eyes. Wisps of blonde hair like angel hair at Christmas time. And then she smiled, as babies do, and she raised her little hand and curled her fingers in and out. Hello. And then we also smile again, don't we. How can we help it? What else can we do? And in the next moment, the child is whisked away, bound for another and another world of whirling colors and wonderful new creatures. And a brief prayer passes from my soul to my tongue and I lift a finger and touch it to the dryness of my lips.
May God watch over this little one in the sea of trouble between here and home.
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