If I were to paint the scene I would have noted the stone terrace background gilded by a mild sun. Noted the great grey wisteria trunks twining up classic columns so the delicate leaves form an elegant green canopy over the central figures: a tiny dark-haired babe who surveyed the admiring throng from the shoulder of the guardian who had not only heralded her coming but had flown her from a hemisphere away on silver wings. Her dark infant eyes rested upon us upon the gifts we brought with a serenity that felt like a blessing. (Soon after, she fell asleep.) The radiant receiving mother told us how long/how far she had sought a child to care for as her own. I thought of the woman who was no part -- of this celebration. A mother none of us -- not even the child -- will ever know. I hoped the joy from this sunlit afternoon in a garden would waft in a warm current over the earth's great curve to ease whatever heart's anguish she may still feel with the assurance that her new-born girl has found a welcome here and much much love!