All this time holding the little chicks, I've really started paying attention to my grasp. I make a firm cup with my hand. Closed enough to cradle the tiny things, firm enough to protect them if some random boy ran into me. Delicate but fierce. Using none of my strength but all of it.
As I focused my thoughts on keeping this physical shape, I realized it was a great physical depiction of motherhood. Soft and gentle. Cradling with tenderness, while blocking out dangers from the outside world with a fierceness that seems almost effortless.
Fierce gentleness.
It takes my mind back a few months to holding Zander the first time. He was a tiny thing. So fragile. The sky outside was red from smoke and fire. I remember wanting to protect him with a fierceness from a world filled with pandemic and unrest. Holding him so lightly that he'd hardly feel the pressure. All my force creating a protective cage that would absorb any shocks the world would throw at him.
Love is fiercely gentle.
I close my eyes and picture myself cradled in fiercely gentle hands. Recognizing my life, my soul as fragile as a newborn baby or a newly hatched chick against the violent forces of an immense universe. I let peace sweep over me.
Life is unpredictable, but I'm in good hands.
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