Jones morning

Rachelle and I are sitting on the sofa.

The winter not yet over.

We’ve passed through some pretty rough weather, and know there will be more to come. But right now there is a pause, and we sit within it like sketches of ourselves– ghosts.

But Jones doesn’t see this. He sees only the forms of love.

And fresh from the bath he is glowing beneath his little, white housecoat. He could not look healthier, he could not be happier, and as if to illustrate this he starts to run around the dining room table. Look at him go! Such velocity!

And every time he rounds a corner, I yell something out:

I think it’s the Flash!
A supercharged zombie!
There’s a shark coming our way and I’m not sure it’s friendly!

And Jones is laughing and running and laughing, and every time he passes us he give us each a high-five. And he just keeps going. Nothing can stop the force of his delight. Smiling and laughing and running, assuming a different character with each lap.

A dinosaur.
A lumberjack carrying milk.
An evil chicken.

He is perfect right now. Absolutely perfect.

This living room a merry-go-round, his laughter music.

And whatever we have endured to get to this point in time, to be a part of it, has been worth it. What a goddamn privilege. Really, to live in this light. And Jones keeps running and running, dissolving time with each step. Every jubilant cell within him is aflame, every one of them propelling him toward the waiting world, but for now he throws his body into mommy and daddy and the three of us sit on the sofa, hugging.

Safe.

The dream, miraculously, having come true.