Wake up and look out the window.
Orange leaves flutter on the branches of a doomed ash tree in the foreground.
Rising sun casts the same autumn color on clouds that float far off and high in the western sky. The foothills and distant, jagged peaks are golden wheat from the plains.
If only one could paint that sunrise.
For as long as I’ve been at this business of being a father, you would think the question would get easier to answer. It’s tougher than it looks. It is tougher than ever.
My wife and children have already given me everything I need. They don’t stop.
What do I want?
What I want is the same as every other day.
A cure for cancer.
A cure for Alzheimer’s Disease.
An end to these dreadful politics.
Relief from my country’s addiction to guns and violence.
Love, not war.
I want Jupiter to align with Mars.
The idea of having a compound has always sounded kind of cool. Not a pharmaceutical thing, or a place the ATF might besiege someday, but more of a Kennedy compound sort of place except not so big and fancy.
For now, we’re making do right here, in my imagination, without all the walls and fences and stuff.