Question

Trees and a cool breeze and the damp, pungent odor of summer just begun. Diaphanous noon rays burst here and there through a canopy of green, rustling leaves.

My child skips lightly along a dirt path and wonders at it all. He wonders if he loves life too much. He doesn’t much care. It is only idle curiosity. Right now, he wants to love.

Perhaps he’ll wrap the question in a soft, white virginal cloth and leave it at the philosopher’s doorstep and let it haunt his sleepless nights.

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