Dear Son

Dear son,

More than a mere father, I am a fortune-teller of sorts, a clairvoyant, a soothsayer, a prophet.  As such, I offer you a brief glimpse into your future:

Enjoy this grace period while it lasts.  Training begins in four years.

'It is,' as one father famously said to his son, 'your destiny.'

Love,

Dad


nwb

You Win, Leaves

Hey, leaves, I give up.  You not only win, you own my ass.  You are the Steelers, I the Browns.  There isn't a single one of you left in the trees, and yet, by some unholy curse, the lawn keeps filling up.  Armed with my trusty rake, I have now been gathering you into large piles for the past 5 weekends.  Oak, maple, birch, ash...it matters not, for the trees are in league against me.  Did Sisyphus suffer so?

So here I am, bowing down, a true supplicant kneeling before his Masters.  You may be thin and brittle, but by sheer numbers you become a mighty force of nature.  Like the million drops of rain that make the flood, you have turned my lawn into a parti-colored sea that even Moses would be helpless to part.  I beg you to stop, have mercy, desist, but know you answer to no earthly entreaties.

Truly, this day I am humbled.  I am bound to this task, and I await next Saturday not with dread, but resignation.

nwb