|Pablo Picasso’s Maternity, 1905|
There are mothers everywhere who sit with me now. In distant places, Mothers who hold their sleepy babes in their arms and to their breast. We are the guardians of the morning-night, ever watchful over our dark domains. In our tired arms rest our weary new souls. We touch their soft hands and caress their powdery cheeks. Time stands still for us, as if mother nature does indeed pause tide and time for man. This moment, in the morning-night, is still like the sleeping babes we hold. Whose fluttery lashes wink and lull against breast warmed cheeks. It is here, in our arms that we become guardians, watchful overseers of the moonlit world. It is our duty, our sacred blessing to become this, to become mothers.