Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

The boy was good, and the boy had come from him—so there must have beengood in him, too. He smiled up again at his son, and for the first time, loved him.And for the first time in many long years, loved himself again, as well. Suddenly he smelled something—flared his nostrils, sniffed once more.Wildflowers, that was what it was. Just blooming; it must be spring. And there was thunder—he cocked his head, strained his ears. Yes, springthunder, for a spring rain. To make the flowers bloom. Yes, there…he felt a raindrop on his lips. He licked the delicate droplet…butwait, it wasn't sweetwater, it was salty, it was…a teardrop. He focused on Luke once again, and saw his son was crying. Yes that was it, hewas tasting his boy's grief—because he looked so horrible; because he was sohorrible. But he wanted to make it all right for Luke, he wanted Luke to know he wasn'treally ugly like this, not deep inside, not all together. With a little self-deprecatory