Young Love9:30 AM
She was young - if not in her teens, then a petite twenty-something. That's what I first noticed about her. She dressed neatly, but as if she had woken up from a four-thirty nap. Her expression was tired yet not weary; and she pushed her shopping cart hesitantly, knowing but not particularly caring that she stood out from the careworn, harried women filling carts on tense smiles and business-like airs.
All this I noticed in about three seconds. She looked at me with that same gentle dream gaze, briefly, only because it was necessary to make sure she passed me safely. She carried precious cargo. And duty done, I saw the tenderest joy fill her eyes - eyes that were for one object alone. The baby newly born slept with pinched eyes in the cart. Perfectly formed. A beautiful baby. Her baby.
And from her wandering eyes, I knew she had been newly born too. She was walking through life with newly awakened eyes, soaking it in but not letting it between her love and the heart of that love - her baby.
It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen - and I saw it in the five seconds as I passed her, try as I might to slow down time. A young love - a first love.
I've seen it in the face of a newborn blinking at mine. I've felt it in the warmth of the baby brother falling asleep in my arms. I've known it in the quiet and the shade of a nursery, a baby's breath lulling me to sleep.
I wish mothers everywhere could return to that young love, that first love, and let the waters of the world diffuse in their peace-filled souls. And I wish, someday, to taste that young love in its loveliest passion and walk around in a world without need, or strife, or purposelessness - a first mother and her baby.