The day of her birth, it was snowing with small and rare flakes. Her father drove me to the hospital and left me there and he carried on for the school pick up. I slowly crossed the street, worrying that I'll dampen my stuff in the carry-on. It was a gray and melancholic midday.
Her name means God had mercy or God's gift, Yahveh hannah. She'll be four soon. She's spoilt. She's bright. She's strawberry blond as opposed to her dark hair dark eyes mother. She's lithe. She can naturally sing and dance, as opposed to her mother. At bedtime she prefers quizzes over stories. She's fluent in two languages and speaks fairly well German and English. She can write and read some. She has a great sense of colour. She knows how to push people's buttons. She's sensitive and witty. She has an amazing sense of conversation. She's so much a woman it takes my breath away. She wakes up with a wonderful smile, like a creature of the woods and the fresh lakes in the mountains. Sometimes, I honestly expect her to turn up with green leaves in her hair, as if she's come from some fairies. She's ticklish. She's like a small tabby, always ready to be given a cuddle. She likes me to lift her on the kitchen counter and wants to help. And then she asks for a reward and a surprise. She's leading her brothers by their noses. And her father. And her mother. She can measure precisely everyone's inner force and adjusts her behaviour accordingly. Sometimes she's the small creature of the woods and sometimes she's the epitome of sophistication and civilisation. I still perceive har as the ultimate undeserved gift: the gift of life. Das Ewig Weibliche.
