Remember when you took an old painted cookie tin, stowed it behind a chalky gray stone between the roots of a sweet gum tree. Nature helped secret your stash when a mossy blanket in the moist shade inched up on the stone. Sometimes the tin sat undisturbed through hundreds of moon cycles awaiting your return. Laying in plain sight the plight of a cigar box can be to remain unopened – waiting for inspiration and inquisitiveness to lift its lid. Stumbling upon it can be like greeting an old friend whose face appears at your door only once in a blue moon. The month is April. April is blue, bluer than a blue moon. It is the month when awareness of autism is augmented and accentuated by monuments being bathed in blue light and public service announcements proclaiming the latest statistics meant to elucidate the epidemic. But really, for us, it is the month when we marvel in Mason and the ripples of humanity that are ...