The men are on the hunt. The moon is full, setting behind me. The sun already showing behind Miner’s mountain. Are there any deer left? Have the muzzle rifles scared them all off? Will we have meat for the winter?
The baby sleeps, she is busy growing teeth, whimpering in her sleep. She plunged head first off the bed hitting the ledge on the way. When I found her she was kneeled down gasping, flailing for something solid to pull herself up on. It is her habit to descend head first. Arms stretched out supporting her, lowering herself to the ground, then swinging her body around. She goes up and down steps this way. It is fearless, because until her fall she had no reason to fear. Every time she plunged she succeeded.
She climbed up the stairs, 6 of them, until she looked behind her. She let out a whimper as she realized that she had to go back down them. She has learned fear.