By Patrick La Roque
Imagine a dot. It might symbolize a beginning, the flashpoint from which our universe expanded. Or it can signify the end—a period, in the last sentence of a diary. Every day is a dot right now. And I’ll be damned if I know which side of the timeline it represents.
The other day I saw a young child reunited with his grandpa, on the evening news. The scene had been shot in Italy, as the country slowly attempts a return to normalcy. I felt a lump in my throat. Sure, I can be sensitive...but this was odd.
Today’s my birthday—May 5. Usually the trees have turned a soft green, not yet full of leaves but a promise. Not this year. Like us, nature seems to be waiting; and there’s a frost warning for tonight. So as you may have guessed, the images in this essay are a trick of the camera’s eye: blown-up, even the smallest bit of life can fill our hearts.
Imagine a dot.
Let’s call it a seed.
