Always The Days Keep Passing

We spent five minutes sitting together in morning silence before we threw my son's things into the back of the jeep and set off for the city, where the bus that would return him to his school hover-hummed. There is never enough time when my son is home. There is always, when he is near, tremendous calm. He hasn't an ounce of the self-trumpeting about him. No need to command the stage. I can't decide what I love most about him, but this is high on the list.

I spent the day, then, thinking out loud with a friend about her dreams and, on either side of that, in the company of my students' last big papers. They have traveled so far, these writers. They have made room, in their minds and hearts, for a larger conversation about life and language, about this one word, vulnerability.

I may be very tired tonight. I may indeed be getting older. But look at the size and shape of my life. This is the feeling of fullness.