Born without storm into autumnal gold, baby Elsie wore mystery, veiled in her caul, seeing only the love in our fathomless eyes. Dispatched with an angel’s kiss, she arrived in Thanksgiving’s low glowing sun. Yet the lore of the caul conjured mystery drawn from a shadowless night. Untroubled by her tumultuous journey into the light, a spirit safe-guarded, she drew on her mama’s settled serenity. Sienna and silk: sweet fleur-de-lis. Elsie’s first cries piqued heartfelt tears from her little big sister. Did she fathom a question in Mila’s unsettled lament – who is this? who turned this great wheel? With a foot in the spirit realm, could Elsie call up that first green unknowing? Her own cries subdue into little knit brows. Moon to Mila’s sun, soft autumn mist to her sweet summer dew, Elsie brings gifts from beyond, brings the beyond itself, to our earthbound wonder, and unravels our carebound unseeing. The veil slips: love arises.