When she would wake in the night as a newborn, I remember being shocked by her eyes, aglow with some otherworld. I remember feeling humbled by that gaze, staggering at the ancient knowing there.

These days, when she wakes up, it’s with innocent wonder. “That!” she shouts as she opens her eyes. I’m thinking back, wondering when this change occurred. It feels right, in my internal calendar, that it would have been right around the time she tried her first strawberry. As if when the fruit of this earthly plane touched her tiny lips, her connection to that otherworld shuttered, at least for now.

I think of apples, of persimmon seeds, of enticing fruit filled feasts.