I walked into the house and there she sat,
on the piano bench, in proper position,
holding her baritone.
Her notes are solid.
She’s only been playing since the late fall,
but she has it down, and she loves it.
She wants to move on to the tuba.

I reached my head down to kiss her lips.
They tasted of brass.
Brassy lips.

I love the way her hair falls on her forehead
...the way her face points in delicate lines.
I love the fact that it appears as if she is wearing mascara on her long eyelashes,
when she is not.
Her freckles dot her nose and the tops of her cheeks.
She has a swirl of short, blonde hairs on her neck, that circle around a freckle.
Chicken-pox left its mark with one small scar in the corner of her cheek, just below her left eye.

Her lips match her middle name:
Rose...her lips are like rose petals... soft and tender to touch.
Her chin has a dramatic angle to it, as does her nose.
She is the most beautiful ten year old girl that I know.
She is my daughter, Eliza Rose.