Flat happy hills, fur on a puppy, sweet scent of rolling grass. This. Orange pink colors and many other passing things that for now juxtapose and the dissonance does not jar because of life. My child, my love, here we are. All of us, including him. And, all our friends, really all our friends we’ve ever had, in all our lives. We ran through fields of grain, thousands of years, together, connected this way and others. Our souls ricocheting and depositing amongst the dead and soaring again. We come back from all times and all places. Our minds constellations of the master plan.