Changeable

It is a joy and a privilege to watch a new personality form. I've thought about little else today, as we watched our grandson negotiate his world. Eyes that now focus, and follow movement and light, and seek out the eyes of others to understand their purpose. And sometimes eyes that rest still, reflecting inner thought, a search for understanding. Am I being fanciful? I don't think so

And a face that can form expressions, communicate, reveal the inner self. Smiles and laughter, uncertainty, distress, determination. Hands that can change the world. We all went through a moment like this - when we first realised that our hands could move things - things that were not us - bring them closer, push them away, turn a page. What a delight! What a thing to do again and again, to learn that it is real, it is reliable

So soon; so new in this world, and all this is happening. I had forgotten; I'm shocked. When our own children did all this, we were young and finding our way, focussed on doing our best for them and avoiding mistakes, paying for the heating, too close to the daily effort to spend much time thinking about the miracle unfolding in front of us. Now, lucky us, we can watch it twice over; delight in the tiny nuances of individuality; luxuriate in its profundity

It froze and then it snowed some more and then it warmed and it rained and dawn crept in with running water and dripping and slush and moving with care and 'go this way' and 'don't walk over that bit'. And the warming and the rain kept coming and wind joined in. But still we went out to walk carefully in muted, misty greenness, among wet leaves from Sheffield's famous trees. And we all got wet, but it doesn't matter; such a small thing