This Blog Has a Theme, I Swear

A few months ago, about an hour before the end of a sunny afternoon, Cash and I were sitting together all alone on the back porch when suddenly Cash's eyes lit up like a pair of sparklers. His head then cocked from side to side, his face turned white, and his arms and legs began flapping as if the entire earth were about to split open beneath us. After about 10 seconds of thrashing around in my arms, Cash suddenly froze as if he had been struck by lightning. My eyes searched the backyard for something out of the ordinary but found nothing unusual. I then studied the expression on Cash's face and discovered that his entire soul had riveted to a choir of birds wailing all around us. As the birds' notes filed into a single, comprehensible hymn, Cash turned toward me with a smile stretching beyond the width of his face, his eyes exclaiming, "Dad, do you hear that?"

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

E.E. Cummings