My father listens as I dovetail words into walls and walk in winter landscapes. None of the alien, snowbanked roads lead home. Even as I speak, the shadows shift across the stones I have tried to mortar into place. My father listens and weaves his willow silences into my words. His quietness builds me a better harbor than words ever could, a place from which to sail, a place to remember on the map I navigate by, where the heart of the compass rose is home.
Your subscription to The Christian Science Monitor has expired. You can renew your subscription or continue to use the site without a subscription.
If you have questions about your account, please contact customer service or call us at 1-617-450-2300.
This message will appear once per week unless you renew or log out.
Your session to The Christian Science Monitor has expired. We logged you out.
If you have questions about your account, please contact customer service or call us at 1-617-450-2300.
You don’t have a Christian Science Monitor subscription yet.
If you have questions about your account, please contact customer service or call us at 1-617-450-2300.
