Timeless Awareness, circa 1870

Aidan and I finished the first "Little House" book last night, and I was amazed to find the book closing with this passage:

Pa's strong, sweet voice was softly singing. . . "Shall auld
acquaintance be forgot, And the days of auld lang syne?"
When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called out softly, "What are days
of auld lang syne, Pa?"
"The are the days of a long time ago, Laura," Pa said. "Go to sleep
now."
But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle softly playing
and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods. She looked at Pa sitting
on the bench by the hearth, the firelight gleaning on his brown hair and beard
and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle. She looked at Ma, gently rocking and
knitting.
She thought to herself, "This is now."
She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the
music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now.
It can never be a long time ago.

I think children are routinely having a conscious awakening to timeless awareness . . . but Lauran Ingalls Wilder has captured it, with its complete innocence and obviousness.