A story today from a childhood memory of falling down, and being lifted in the presence of a loving smile. Four years old, scissors in hand, cowboy boots slipping on the top stair to the basement... The pain mi madre must have felt on seeing me at the end my fall; the guilt, the fear, the helplessness...each her own to bear behind the smile that always brought me home.
And a poem to marvel at the sheer simplicity and eternal depth of this thing that we call love.
