A year ago I felt it. It is here again, but more sweet and more bitter. There is a time warp about me, and perhaps a step to the right would prove appropriate.
Down the hall, inside a boy sleeping soundly, there is a metamorphosis taking place. Come morning that boy will wake and he will spread his wings, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t fly.
Happy 5th Birthday, Atticus. Now soar.