November The Eighth

"THIS is my child, he said. . . . Then he wrapped him in the blanket and carried him to the fire.
"The boy sat tottering. The man watched him that he not topple into the flames. He kicked holes in the sand for the boy's hips and shoulders where he would sleep and he sat holding him while he tousled his hair before the fire to dry it. All of this like some ancient anointing. So be it. Evoke the forms. Where you've nothing else construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them."

-- by Cormac McCarthy, from "The Road," copyright 2006