At an angle I can see the fullness of this child’s face, round and billowing, her cheeks crescent like a harvest moon. Her stocky little body appears robust and healthy. Her shorn tresses are like those of a crazy person, hastily chopped and asymmetrical. Seated behind her, my breath is precariously suspended. I am careful not to disturb her play. I am present to observe. I have spent years as a mindful, heedful servant to these children. My attempts at invisibility are often for naught. They know that I am there to watch them; they know that I am looking for something.