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Unfortunate light: on a warm fall day when the sun makes one more boastful show of its power, we shield our baby, as we have all summer, against its dangerous rays. Our reason is right, and as always we give reason its due and address ourselves to the nearly lightless question: did we (did you) give birth to a shadow being? Let’s be honest, we conclude, are we not just as unfit to lie and walk in the sun as the baby? Then the tree under which we are sitting shakes its branches, sending its last leaves spinning to the ground and exposing our faces to the sun. Immediately we blink. But the baby (leaning against us) does not blink: Fortunate light.