Just read this article by Serge Bielanko in response to time flying by and thought this part was so sweet. [link]

You can stand there in all that savage noise of your life popping off/the two p.m. sun beating down on you with a stick made out of sky/and you can watch your daughter chasing one of those dime-a-dozen white butterflies across the yard, the kind that look like two communion wafers eloping on some thermal wind, and you can see her legs carrying her over the new green grass. You can watch, and almost feel it, as her naked feet move her so swift, tagging down in some lush uncut clump of emerald and then launching her back into space as she reaches out to grab at something wilder than any mountain on Earth, something she could never catch in a million years, and when it finally slams into the back of your aging skull that she is growing up now and she is so much more than you could have ever freaking dreamed she would be that first moment you touched her face/her hot pinkishness and fell so madly in love with her that God himself stopped his fishing for a minute and peered down off of the side of his bass boat to see just what a proud papa was hatching down there on that little blue and green rock in the shallows of the deep dark lake: only then will you realize that you are always gonna be a couple of steps behind all the love in your heart because it’s too damn big, man, for even you to handle.