A Poetic Dialogue: Son

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Sonny Boy,” I said.

“How come the birds don’t fall out of the sky?” he asked
brilliantly, but not without a partly suppressed yawn.

“D’ya feel the wind on your face when you’re outside, son? I
asked.

“It feels good Dad.” he answered, cheerfully following along.

“The wind, Son, is God’s breath that he blows, but we call it
the ‘wind.’

“Ooookay,” he responded, appearing somewhat quizzical, “but
Daddy remember the birds?” he dutifully reminded me.

“Yes, Son, when God wants to, He blows his breath,” I said.

“Like this, Dad?” he queried, inflating his cheeks and blowing.

“Yes, Ben, just like that, but when God blows his breath, it
catches under the wings of the birds and lifts them up.” I
explained.

“Ooooh,” he replied, scratching his head but clearly intrigued
by the answer.

(excerpted from In Memory of Ben)

Alan D. Busch

2007