Words cannot express the emotion with which I feel. Tirelessly considering, the joy of childhood. The love of parents so happy for me. A coffee sits. Begging to be sipped. While I stare at our old oak tree. The yard as square and cut as dad kept it all those years. Mom's aged cook book, a family classic on the shelf. Stares at me through dusty binding. Years have passed. Alone I tend to my history. The coffee is getting cold.