The bed of coals that pulsed beneath the flickering flames of the fire lured us into immobility as surely as a pocket watch swinging from the fingers of a hypnotist.
Motivated Mom and I sat side by side on the back patio, speaking no words yet saying everything as we watched the fire dance in the chiminea.
When at last the wood had all burned to ash we stared up at the star-filled sky in a wonderment more commonly embraced by children who still hold magic in as much revere as science.
In this intimate moment I felt Saturday slip into Sunday and knew Father's Day could not have begun on a better note.
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