Being At the Trembling: For Uvalde David W. Jardine Being at the trembling, shimmering cusp of things. The newly-arrived photo, mother and two young cousins, with the boy, nearing ten months, up on his feet, as near to walking as you can be. And beaming as I expect are the other three. And me, now, too. Can’t include photos for unspeakable reasons of caution. But still, you know this. Here he is, a brand-new fabric, brand new familiarities being knit, brand new excitement and pleasure and accomplishment and pleasure and care and affection and all that, all that. A brand new spring sun rising up. Right here, right now, like never before. And, of course, something age-old, the ancient, tough work of uprising onto your own two feet, and the giggly surroundings that uprise with you, the vertigos, the repetition, the imitations, the love. An old, old story. Hands reached out. Hearts reached out. Me stretching and cooing as grandfathers have done long before his arrival made me one for the first time. These two collide, ancient and brand new. Where’s my bee picture? Ah, okay, there it is. Header. “The true locus of hermeneutics is this ‘in between’” (Gadamer, 1989, p. 295). The knit and the re-knit. And the undone.