There is a center to things.

Remember,
before you enter the revolving doors
	of Bear Stearns or PricewaterhouseCooper
or any other place with a gold-gilded name,
at the height of your successes,
in the depth of your failures,
remember
that bright summer day
when you sat on the ground
hammering stones into gravel for 
	the foundation of your stone path
into the woods of Nai-nai's land on Margaretville Mountain
how two baby ferrets
drew themselves to the full height of their four inches -
their forelimbs hanging in front of their white and brown fur -
on the stone wall near you -
curious at the source of the persistent banging -
and watched you -
for the minutes that were hours in their life -
before they slipped between the loose bluestones
and were gone.


			Dad
			1/31/99