We live in a valley. The afternoon sun blazes steady and strong into our windows for about 30 minutes before it goes "behind the hill"- as the girls call it- at about 3:30 in the afternoon and in an instant the direct sun disappears and we're left in cold, shadowed darkness.
I was sitting on the couch with Hudson one afternoon enjoying the last blast of sun before the house got dark, his sisters woke up, and the late-afternoon dinner, etc. routines began. He loves to sit in the sun, so he was perfectly content as the rays warmed us. I can't remember why I did it, but I put my hand over his eyes for a second and instantly his pupils grew larger to adjust to the change in light. Obviously, right? That's what our eyes do. Isn't it a miracle, though? I removed my hand and just as quickly they adjusted again to the light, revealing more of the complex blues that I've come to know so well.
My mind stopped to ponder the incredible complexities of the eye- of our bodies, of all of creation. Isn't it incredible that this sweet child could be created- started from practically nothing and with no help from me- and in a precise process that you'd be a fool to say evolved out of random chance?
Here's Lily showing off her blues...and some drool.
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