To work with Frank was a mixture of being his colleague and of being his friend. It was pleasant to be in Frank and Sara’s large house. The ongoing motion of their lives was Emmanuel’s engagement for now. He noted that nothing in their possession was seen as terribly important in comparison to the self-evident flow of friend and family interactions. Presently Emmanuel was in this intimate flow, as they all poured into the kitchen.
In the kitchen the locus of attention naturally became the young daughter. She was so enchanting, so beautiful. Such a marvel. What a spell she was weaving on them now, without intending it, yet knowingly somehow, as an emissary from the heart of the smiling sun, holding her fragile arms out, gesticulating at them with her lazily flowing hair and shining, relaxed face, cradled in the arms of her father.
“Hello Amanda.” Their friend Harry said from a corner of the kitchen.
Amanda began to babble various things in response to this statement, her actions full of arcane meaning. Emmanuel strained to understand what she was saying… It was cryptic poetry, an announcement of the deep, sacred processes of her child’s mind, like the ripples of light cascading off the impossible complexities of a morning ocean. He seemed to catch some meaning in what she was saying: “You collapsed me into my name,” he thought he heard her say, with her arms sort of languidly floating into the atmosphere, bespeaking her primal innocent knowing, as a sigil of her status, honestly won as a newborn, as a mediator, at the gap between life and death.
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