Warm Hats

Three small men in jeans, belts, plaid shirts and sneakers, run around the lake every day at lunch,

gray smoke curling from their portals-eyes, nostrils, ears, mouth and third eyes.

Their hands are cupped in front of them, held out from their bodies, thumbs crossed over their palm bowls.
Nestled in these bowls are tiny nascent living gifts with fragile wispy bones

and membranes thinner than sighs.

A child sings in the grass while her mother knits warm hats on the bench.

She watches them run by every day.

One day, she jumps up and runs after them laughing, trying to catch the gray smoke, like bubbles.

The men delight in the child's laughter and slow down a bit. She dances in front of them and swiftly yet gently puts a little warm knit hat over their cupped hands, shielding their gifts.

They thank her and speed up again.