The story of Axtell's birth at home in the dark morning hours and then when the golden sun rose for him.

The fireplace twinkled, sparkled, danced and crackled song,unaware of the weight of each moment, the suspension of miracle between worlds. They had chosen this space to bring his life earthside into their arms as it was only natural. Here in this space where where daily they’re raising children as strong and mighty warriors, to face the impossible and overcome. And although the world was their calling, it was here in the space called home for the time was where the sacred was unfolding. Here in the space where every nook, every corner reflected the art woven into their story. And in this night, in this space, this is where he would open his eyes as they opened their heart. And so while black was a blanket around them, the night was lit by hope alone.

Their son had been wrapped in words of waiting for fifteen days past when a calendar would have him arrive but now it was the appointed, anointed time. Serenaded only by murmered prayers, inhale, exhale, she would surrender, lean in, and his father's tenderness, a reflection of divine compassion, would hold her, connected by spirit, known and shared by soul, arms wrapped round and held tight with freedom. Head buried, eyes closed, her fingers would raise and extend in silence, agony welcomed for the sake of sacrifice no sooner outstretched then met by the comfort of steady strength. Then finally, the heat of the sacred’s journey from the heavenly was overwhelmed with reward, met her trembling hands to breathe ice cold oxygen then comforted against the wet and sticky flesh of longing. Prayers answered, desire satisfied, joy had come in the morning. This is the story of Axtell's birth at home in the dark morning hours and then when the golden sun rose for him.

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