Gorgeous Isla.
Apparently, scooting in the grass is the best of all possible worlds.
Gnome and Isla survey discrepancies on the horizon.
The lyrics to the Pharcyde's "She Keeps on Passin' Me By" roll through my head as I watch my sister to try scoop a scooting Isla only to find that, alas, mommy is not as interesting as that pink plastic ball over yonder.
Prophet decides to "big sister" her tiny cousin.
The elusive pink ball draws closer to Isla.
Prophet and Isla share joy as Isla finds she can "catch" the ball. Prophet, of course, relishes being close to Isla and making her smile.
Alas, Isla loses interest and takes off in search of more magnificent conquests.
Gnome casts a keen eye on the "crawler", announcing that Isla is, in fact, "a baby".
No one disputes Gnome's assertion. Instead, we wonder what Isla will find next.
Isla rises and makes significant gestures towards Prophet, indicating ineffable possibilities which probably involve a fistful of crackers, a mouthful of dead grass, or that pink ball that disappeared again. Since Prophet doesn't translate her cousin's words, I am left wondering...
But my favorite part of our excursion was the one in which auntie had the honor of holding a beautiful little hand....
... a hand I hope to hold for many years (at unexpected times) in the future. Knowing, however, that the direction in which little ones turn is towards the world and away from us, I will be happy to console myself with holding my sister's warm, small hand. The ways in which I find myself needing her have so little to do with us as individuals and so much to do with our shared roots these days.
