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The more things change...

Change is not so much what we make as it is what happens to us unawares. Not everything that changes is progress but it is inevitable that everything changes. The seasons flow on, all too quickly. We tighten our life-vests, and try to steer clear of the rocks. Along our way down the river, we are grateful for every resting place. Here's ours. Above, as it was in our first August here in 2016, and below, as it is now. We still miss the old cherry tree in the foreground of the first photo. It died the year after we moved here. We've carved a garden out of the hill and planted blueberries on the slope above. One thing hasn't changed. We're still here. It's still home. We'll hold to that reality as long as we can.

Anything that heals...

We received just a dusting of new snow a week ago, enough to remind us that it is still winter, but not enough to hinder. Since, we have found opportunity to get reacquainted with the sun.

Routines have resumed with the friendlier weather. I'm having serious conversations with my garden, getting back into the Forever Novel. I have vague impressions of a conclusion, maybe twenty thousand or so words out.

Also working on a homily for the first Sunday in Lent. A friend tells me there is not much difference between a story and a sermon, that both are forms of fiction. I'm not inclined to argue the point though I don't really agree. Fiction and theology are not entirely in opposition, however. Both lean more heavily on faith and imagination than on provable, quantifiable fact.

Anything that heals your life is true.

Henry's books.