She’s been around seven months, or so the calendar says. Gone like a breath. Sweet days, but fleeting.
Happy. She’s found a happy groove. Rolling all around the room, never ending where she began. Talking and screeching and loving to be a part. So big. So cheerful. So precious to us all.
See? Just like that.
It flies. It drags. It’s sweet. It’s terrifying. It’s highs and lows and calm and turbulent and mundane and beautiful and everything in between. But in the end, it passes. A wise man knows, numbers, and remembers his Creator.