Birdy birdy bird (the illusion of realism)

D & P, whisper
Here’s my sweetheart, D, instructing his niece, P, in the delicate art of birdwatching.

Things this charming scene fails to convey:

Although all appears serene and peaceful, just a few feet away is all the hubbub of a large family celebrating P’s first birthday.

You cannot see how gleaming and beautiful her eyes are, and how like her uncle’s.

You cannot hear her rolling little belly laugh, or see her come charging toward you, surprisingly fast and steady on those rounded little legs.

At this instant, P has stopped smiling for the first time all day and not, as the picture might suggest, because she is wary of her uncle. Oh, no. She has been giggling and wiggling and casting sidelong glances at him all day long*. Her expression is one of concentration as she tries to spot the birdy birdy bird he has been pointing out as it hops about in the nearby tree. Indeed, birdy birdy bird is almost certainly what he is cooing into her ear. Moments after this shot, she will pluck her fingers from her mouth and point wetly to the bird chirping in the tree.

* As who among us does not, given the chance?

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