He told her she was so lovely. No sooner had this honesty left his lips than a mob gathered grabbing hammers and nails to crucify. Tell her she’s smart. Tell her she’s strong. Tell her she’s brave. Tell her anything but she’s lovely. He outran them, this time, and found a park bench hidden in a pocket of pines and scrub oak protected by the voices of a thousand birds. He told the pines and the scrub oak and the birds they were so lovely for that is what his only eyes told him was true. And their happiness seemed transparent.