Tell me the sun. Tell me of the son. Tell me about the day his little feet ran across the new grass and into his father’s arms. On that day the fulfilled promise was a quiet paradise. Perhaps for just a while. That was the moment, wasn’t it? Warmth. Kindness. A cool wind. The taste, the smell of the honeysuckle bush near the house. The exact spot of perfect joy. Tell me the sun. Tell me of the son. They were the same. Everything was complete.