You take me somewhere I have never been before and the immensity of the landscape fills me with wonder. It took me a long time to become the kind of man for whom wonder was a property of being. But you took me there easily like shadows breaking in sunlight. I know you wonder sometimes about your measure, how the world sees you and it’s funny because it’s you that gives measure to me, and that, I suppose, in the final analysis is what mother hood is all about; the transfer of magic conducted gently like a hand upon the brow. It lives in the eyes of your children when they look at you. Those times when you’re not looking, busy with the pots or arranging things, your head bent in concentration, working at getting it right and perfect for them. They look at you with eyes filled with wonder. At this woman who bears their chin, their nose, their eyes, their look of solemn thoughtfulness and I see them inhabit the same landscape as I do. All of us transported and transformed by virtue of allowing you to touch us. I love you for that. For the anonymity of motherhood you travel in, oblivious most times to the practical effect of magic you carry in your hands.