I held a blue-eyed baby today. He was soft and quiet, head resting upon my shoulder. I rubbed his back, and he breathed deep and even. I relished the weight of him against my chest, young heart beating against old heart beating. His mother is so young, but I do not pity her; I do not pity him. I pity the people who do not know love. I pity the people who do not know the beauty of a babe, fragile yet resilient. I pity the people incapable of melting by the gentle touch of trusting infancy.