when half spent was the night
and then there are the nights when you find yourself standing on a dark residential street at 2 am wearing your favourite little black dress next to a woman in silk stockings. . . holding a placenta.
(yes, the little black dress has blood on it, and the silk stockings a run in the big toe)
Under a stunning Southern Cross studded sky, the world’s latest mother was born in a dark and quiet room of the house, farthest from the door, in the safest corner she could find; in her partner’s arms.
Birth, like life, is risky and unpredictable and interupts your friday night. But, like life, doing it without trying to control all the variables from your position of precarious, human fallibility. . . is often stunning, simple, monumental. . .better than anything we might dare to concoct.
Certainly, in my humble book of opinion, the best way to spend half your night.
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