I sit here at Fort Snelling, the outbound airplanes climbing over my head, and I see the death of my winter's skiing. The steady swish of blades down a narrow trail past the herd of deer is not to be for seven months, or even more. Not a moment more, for the door of spring is opening. A robin has just passed overhead. A father and his children are four picnic tables away.
Bicycles pass from time to time on the paths.
One season now turns into another. There is a priest of my church who on retirement, together with his wife, sold everything they had, lock, stock, and barrel and sent a letter to national headquarters saying that they would serve anywhere they were needed. Over the next twenty years they have been sent from city to city. Every place, they rent an apartment, lease furniture, lease a car. Meet new friends.