Insoluble (August)

Our daughter thinks it’s all coincidence. I say, maybe, but how come everything’s patterned? Why are we certain of purpose? Everything’s so beautiful, so august. August, is that a word?, she asks, leaving for French homework. After dinner, conversation turns to what my wife calls nagging insolubles. Science cannot explain everything, I say, and ignores religion’s warnings of human fallibility. Are ‘No Religion’s just believers in scientific benefit? She disagrees. What’s my definition of religion? Everyone’s religious, I say, then reflect: religion’s that which gets you out of bed in the morning. She thinks ‘No Religion’s believe in their family.