the twelfth power
My years as a father have been some of the most rewarding of my life. I can't believe how quickly they have flown by. My little girl seems more and more like a young woman with every day. At this point, she has graduated from reading stories to writing them. I'm inspired by her creativity and productivity. Watching her "just do it" has given my the incentive to work on stories that I've let simmer for ages.
This year with the snow on the ground during her birthday, I am reminded of the morning she came into this world. I went home to get some things for the overnight stay at the hospital and saw flowers pushing through the white blanket.
Her uncle Byron wrote a poem about the snows of middle March:
"What delicate flower consents to emerge?"