Abraham,
Someone recently challenged us to think of your crying as a way to burn off energy, to spin the sparks of the day out and away. Maybe you cry like I bounce, late at night listening to the endless rain. It makes sense really; the world is so new to you and I would guess so overwhelming. I have lived in it for thirty-six years and still find myself buried at the end of every day in thoughts and ideas and strange occurences to mull over again and again. It’s a rich fabric and I would hate to miss a single color.

Until today I saw my job as the cry-stopper. I have ten techniques or more to distract you from your grief. Except maybe it’s not really grief. Maybe it’s a song you’re singing. You got no words for it all, just sounds, sweet noise. Maybe these are your songlines.

Tonight I hold you close and you sing. Loud. We walked in the half light of the bedroom and swayed gently, much more gently than the trees outside, buffeted by yet another rain storm. I open my heart so wide that I fall in. I cry with you. We recall the day the same. I cannot describe the calm after. It is fresh and quiet.

Later I sing to you a lullaby written in the moment. It rolls like a chant, a tone poem, a TV on the Radio song. I call the words from the air, from our day together, from the rain outside, from your smiling eyes. It is my songline. We write it everyday.

Pa-

Abe,
Some nights are like this. You are wide awake at eleven or twelve, maybe wired for sound, maybe a perpetual motion machine like your Pa. I have worse traits you could have inherited. It’s rough on your Mom though, to have two of us under one roof; there’s always something going on in this house, usually something cool too, and creative.

I told you all about watercolor pencils tonight. I told you how I love color, but can only borrow it in my photographs. I can’t paint at all and wish I could move color in that way. Your Mom though, color belongs to her. Learn that from her. I can teach you how to draw things as they appear, but your Mom can teach you how to draw the world behind and inside things, how to hear quiet voices, how to see the things you dream.

Rest child, tomorrow is another full day,

Pa-