It starts and ends with a breath.
The shock of air on a newborn’s cheek, the cold kiss of it. This is what beckons a first breath. It isn’t born of need, not a hunger for air nor scarcity that compels us to fill our lungs for the first time. Rather, drawing a breath is our natural response to the abundance of air. Air stirs the fine hairs on infant bodies, sways lanugo like seaweed underwater. A galeforce rush of stimuli triggers neurons, which spark in the brain. Unfamiliar waves of sound and light roll in: vibrations resonate within the ear canal, and brightness flashes upon the retina in fuzzy shapes.
from Drawing a breath by Kaitlyn Teer
We had the same nightly ritual that we do now. I’d read to the girls and tuck them in before my wife took over, and the last thing I’d say every night was “I love you,” and they would always reply promptly, “I love you too, Daddy.”
But one night after my declaration, Fiona was silent. She just kept staring at the ceiling.
“Do you love me too, Fiona?” I asked, foolishly.
A long moment passed.
“No, Daddy, I don’t.”
“Oh, Fiona sweetie, I bet you do,” I said.
Nothing.
“Well,” I said finally, “I love you, Finn, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
And then as I started to get up, I felt her small hand on my arm and she said dreamily, without looking at me, like a little Lauren Bacall, “I will love you in the summertime, Daddy. I will love you … in the summertime.”
from I will love you in the summertime by Christian Wiman
What wonderful writing! Really sublime! Just loved reading these pieces!