The Willow & War Blog


Call them sons.

Not boy. Not youth. Not child.

Sons. Who, even when their bones and sinews stretch towards celestial lights, will continue to be sons. As I am a son. Even as kings and fathers.

Sons of inheritance. Their father's eyes. Their father's love for mountains. Their father's heart. Their father's kingdom. Their father's dreams, maybe.

To be a son is to live forever. My father, a son. Me, a son. My sons.

Men, someday. Kings.

But sons, nevertheless.