faith of our fathers

Another postscript to Father's Day -

I am reading Tender is the Night and came upon this gorgeous passage as Dick Diver kneels in the old cemetery by his father's grave:

"These dead, he knew them all, their weather-beaten faces with blue flashing eyes, the spare, violent bodies, the souls made of new earth in the forest-heavy darkness of the seventeenth century. 'Good-bye, my father, and all my fathers.'"

Sometime I think we fret that the world as we know it will simply implode from all the deadly news.

But those who have gone before us have left deep, hopeful footsteps for us to follow.

Or ignore.