A Son's Heart

The children were rather reluctant to come in this evening. Sunlight lingered a bit longer than usual, and Aidan, my "little fiery one," relished the softly approaching dusk. "It's so splendid outside," he said with a sigh as he closed the garage door gently (for a change) behind him. "It's so sweet to hear the birds singing as they fly by . . . ." And his last wistful glance cast out the window toward creation caused my heart to ache. Like Emily of New Moon, I needed to savor this glimpse into my son's poetic heart: "It would hurt her with its beauty until she wrote it down." And so I pause to write it down, assuaging that tender ache that only beauty can elicit.