A few days back, unbeknown to her mama & me, Eleanor decided to give herself a haircut. (Afterward, she appeared in the threshold of the living room looking like a for real punk rocker!) Her mama & I batted cleanup for her & finished the job. No big shake. What's weird, though, is that she now looks like I did thirty-three years ago...which is a strange sensation for me. (You know, seeing a past-version replica of myself.) The effect is a kind of existential horrific wonder that peters out at the edges and gives way to a mammalian, quasi-maternal & endlessly-unfolding luminous nothingness. I draw her close and press my nose to her head: "This is my central organizing principle." This is a kind of unexplainable love, people. And amen.