by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The young father
bound
his newborn daughter
across his chest
and then slipped on his skis.
This was a cold February
in the land of lakes and trees
with dancing green lights.
Here he connected,
just as his ancestors
before him connected,
to the starry night,
just as his daughter
will someday bind
her infant
across her heart,
presenting a new life
under the milky-green
foam of stars,
under the great tail
of the Milky Way Galaxy
above her shoulders.
fourwindowspress 
Beautifully described tradition, Ethel. Wonderful imagery!
Some of these traditions are in peoples all over the world. Love Ethel
This is spellbinding Ethel. It’s a scene both of tenderness and awe, which is a wonderful and unusual combination.
I always write about real stories in my poems. This one had to be recorded. Thank you, John. Ethel
Wow Nana. I love this more than anything. Reminds me of my papa.
This is your papa. Love you. Nana
Perfect evocation of the magic and majesty of age long tradition alive today and stretching on into the future and the heart of true humanity.
This is one magical moment.