The lake was covered in mist, with boats moving slowly through the pale morning. She did not need to understand the scene to belong to it. Her little feet rested at the edge of the photo, soft and warm against all that cool blue air.
At ten months, the world is still mostly texture: the breeze, the hush, a hand nearby, a lap that feels safe. We watched the water together and let the morning stay gentle.
What love looked like
It looked like tiny toes, a quiet view, and parents trying to hold one small second still before she grows into the next one.