When I watch a documentary about a father and a son I think I wish we had that kind of connection, but maybe we have the kind of connections we're meant to. I was just thinking of a day I was sitting with dad by the big oak tree behind his house. It seems we were sitting on buckets. It may be that he cried that time. I seem to remember that, and me squirming a little on my bucket, but also rapt. I remember saying something about the power of certain places. Maybe I was saying that place was one, though I haven't thought of it often in years, and it seemed to be just a fragment in time.