I weep at what is beautiful. And when the children are near, they ask, “Why do you cry?” and I try to explain, “Because it is beautiful.” It would be too difficult to describe the joy of realizing (again) the impossible has happened: The world, after all, is not irrevocably broken. A tenderness – however small – whether real or imagined – has been witnessed. And I imagine the remarkable magic itself would weep too, for having been found.