This weekend I returned to my native New England. I zigzagged around the states most familiar to me, as the region tried to shrug off a fairly gross noreaster. Between Friday and Sunday I occupied every New England state except for Maine. Several occasions required my attendance; a funeral, a graduation party, and Mother's Day. They each carried their own unique profundity. In the middle of the whole excursion, I had my 32nd birthday. Cycle upon cycle. Beginnings and endings.
The weather was awful. Hearts were present and steadfast in their empathy and fellowship. Nature was both seductive and callous at once. The land from which I come reminded me why New Englanders are deep in character. They see snow on Mother's Day and call it pretty.
lyrics
In the wind
In the dark
Beyond the trees
Beyond the artifice
In the open air
At the whim of the elements
At the end of it all
At the start of it all