But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after- oh, that's love by a different name. She is the babe you hold an hour in your arms after she's gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead, you rock her by the window, drinking light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams. Your heart bays to the double crescent moons of closed lashes on her cheeks. She's the one you can't put down.
- Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Barbara Kingsolver
