Kinder

Old men smile like children, their faces snapshots of my son as a boy, a teenager, a man. I feel like a visitor in a timeless kindergarten. Any mother could be my mother or daughter, depending upon a certain glance. A cat warming itself in the sun looks like an old flame. A grizzled groundhog is the very image of an uncle we never talk about. Parents come back as offspring, friends return as small birds that sing of things too great for small birds to understand. I look upon my cousin Mort being led down the street on a leash. I observe this nursery for giants and I know, I have read this story before; It is the tale of the kinder, the wide-eyed kinder who rear us each day as their own.