sunday morning

I will walk with you, my son.

Through the ice-sheathed forests of winter, in places where wonder lives on in shadowed groves -- where magic still breathes in the slow pacing of the trees.

Then walking, we'll return to where the wrens are once again nesting in the ivy that embraces our home -- wrapping it in greening memories of the earth below. And as they warble from their fresh-woven hallows of the coming spring, we will wonder at the forgotten beauty of it all.

We will forget, again, the tragedy of concrete, steel, and lumber -- the compromise of our humanity, maintained at a never-reckoned cost.

We will forget, a moment, and live instead in the idyll mystery of possibility.
You and I.

My son.