The Face of our Fathers

The pond is frozen and the family gathers to drink to the coming of spring, with our eyes raised to the setting sun and the points of light far on the horizon. I sigh to think of the many things I've done to help freeze this pond, to help thicken the ice during the dull wintry dawn and the cold gusts of day. But on the horizon, I can see the face of my father, telling me to shine again as he did in the new day, the lingering frost and thawing of hearts that were thought to be solid and unbending. The family is gathered once again.