like all births it was both messy and beautiful.
some could not bear to watch, and snuck out the side door.
others stayed until the end and and watched you take your first few ragged breaths.
when the construction noise was done, you invited the neighbourhood for a meal. people came from next door and up the street. a few drove cars and parked on the slope outside. people sat round scarred wooden tables and on used plaid couches. they told frank stories, gazed at the cowboy boots in the hall, and wondered if they would come back.
days, months and four years passed.
you sang story songs in the basement on tuesdays and thursdays. on fridays there were birthday parties. on saturdays, weddings. on sundays, people were baptized in a grey trough that was full to overflowing, and wrapped with faded towels worn from washing.
you left your tender baby skin and unfolded your limbs. you said your first words. took steps, and occasionally burst into a run.
we gasp at the wonder of it.
happy birthday rustle.
may you grow to be a grandmother and a great great aunt. may you welcome many through your doors, and send many out more fully who they are. may you make beauty in the neighbourhood. may you know and love the Maker.
brenda melles
