The family of all things, as Mary Oliver put it, is where we struggle to find our place. When I think of my father's love and the legacy of love he left, I see myself standing there. Then I think of my mother and her grief in the wake of him disappearing across the distant horizon where the river empties itself into the ocean and the sun sets for us all. But then I think of this dawn, this sunrise on the river where I stand among the wild geese and ducks who seem to acknowledge my place in a new way this morning, moving around me with ancient love and welcoming me even as they send me on my way to where every movement is a standing still in the family of things and where I will claim my proper place to give love and receive it.

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