Today the earth is made of Viking monosyllables: raw and wet and ripe and full. The sky is gray and low and close, and the earth is raw and wet and ripe and full.
Today is just this side of the calm before some storm; the wind is gathering, pregnant with anticipation, electric with possibility.
Today is urgent, insistent. There’s no time to lose. The iron is hot.
Today, all of us -- rowers, runners, bus drivers, geese -- are conspiring to create the world. We glance at each other with subtle, knowing smiles. We barely hold back our laughter at the sheer delight and nerve of building something that no one will believe.
Today the brooding world is tight-wound, wire-taut, skin-tense; at any moment it bursts.
Keep your carefree, blue-skied, springtime afternoons. Christ comes on a day like today.