We looked out at the crest of the Sierra, two miles away, our backs against a drama concluded millions of years ago. A stone had ripped a patch of skin from my palm as we had fallen here and the pain and blood brooded in the midst of layered time. We sat at the stone altar, covered in sunlight and dust. I spoke of eons and ages, the Manifest Destiny of The Living. Death was always converted to Life, I said, while Joshua contradicted and laughed, not seeing the Wisdom of Life, torn from the sea millions of years ago.
Generations build on generations, consuming, reproducing, departing.
Utility and Pain are inherent in living, and only the bones of a chosen few, chosen by fiat, remain. The rest grow in us all. I reached into my Darkness and pulled the Diamond of Regret into the light and presented it to my son. He looked the other way, into a day yet to come, if it ever would. Fathers and Sons, I thought, to consume and to be consumed.