I think of holding my breath, swimming as far as I can underwater as a child.
I think of the same child watching his father blow his breath into the lungs of a swimmer dragged from the sea onto a French beach. Someone had to.
But most of all I think of the nights spent watching and listening in my own children’s bedrooms – waiting to see the rise and fall or hear the outblow – to be sure sure they were still breathing happily – waiting some more – holding my own breath so as not to mask the sound of theirs. Then the little happy gasp of life and all well. Or perhaps a nudge from me to disturb into making a sound or movement,a sign of life, so I could go to sleep myself reassured.
Surely it’s a design fault that babies can breathe so quietly?
(Now you can look at alternative takes on the topic Breath from other members of the Loose Bloggers Consortium listed on the right.)