Cover Story

Along the urban stream at the end of a perfect Saturday, I sit and watch the sun go down. I watch below me as a father and his young son pick their way gingerly along the rocks of a still fast flowing stream. They are looking for treasures brought downstream by the previous week's storms. The father, tall, thin, and balding, hair the red side of blond helps the red haired son negotiate the rocks. They are striking in the setting sun. The father periodically points out some hidden find in some rocky notch or crevice. I am thinking who could frame such an idyllic theme in our present era, or even care to? It is a Norman Rockwell cover! No one comparable or even close in todays garish din. He could stop a moment, and celebrate ordinary folks without sarcasm, no qualifying mote, no sugary note. A cool breeze kicks up as the earth cools and my dog and I leave the scene and race the fading sunlight home. Each step reverberates... There are no Norman Rockwell covers. There are no Norman Rockwell covers.