This strange time of life hidden in brown death. The earth still crusted with ice. Birds still seek their meager seeds and fight this Goliath of cold as big as the world. Out they peek from under wing as the rising sun makes the sky pearl and winter’s unblinking stare loses its nerve. Crocuses are awake though the barren trees still sleep as the bare cross will likewise know no fruit but our pain for forty days. Slow, slow, slow,... Read more