I can find innumerable reasons to not write, even an innocent babe. She made us wait six days beyond the nine months, then came as a Thanksgiving. I have made time for Elsie, the soft sun, and the golden leaves to inspire and have distilled an elegiac couplet from the morning’s scribblings.
Born without storm into autumnal gold, little Elsie wore mystery, veiled in her caul, seeing only the love in our fathomless eyes.