On the day our daughter arrives, we have gone a few blocks from home to check out a Lambretta motor scooter that someone has for sale. 
Annie climbs on the seat and straddles my back while I take it for a test run around the neighborhood. It is a beautiful, clear evening, still very light and warm but with the first pink edges of a lazy sunset just starting in the west, and there is a fragrance of clover in the air and the distant hint of charbroiled burgers from someone’s backyard grill.
Annie’s hair whips around in the breeze, and if anyone notices us at all, across the well-tended yards and gardens and the vacant lots like generous meadows, they see a red-bearded young man with muscular arms carefully guiding a motor scooter up and down the quiet village streets of Yellow Springs, Ohio, and a beautiful young woman who resembles Queen Brunhilde or an angel, with windswept blonde hair three feet long, clinging to him; and if they look a little closer or a little longer, they will notice too that the angel is very pregnant.
