I’m not sure precisely why our calendar falls the way it does. I imagine it has to do with the length of days, but whatever the reason, I like that we experience New Year’s in the middle of winter and that Spring comes well into our failed resolutions. The natural sermon of life and death and resurrection are evident in every season, crescendo over every year. It’s unavoidable. Spring is birth, Summer: life, Autumn: dying, Winter: death. We spend chilling months mourning the luscious days we played in gardens and bathing suits. We don sweaters like monks in pious posture, chanting with our pumpkin spice clutched in prayer as we…
A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.