The crocuses are back, spearing their way through last summer's leaves, reminding me (again) that spring is possible.
I lose faith when I lose my way, when I no longer feel the rhythms of the natural world in my bones, when I spend more time under fluorescent light than I do under the sun.
We pretend that we can educate children for a global village, with standards and standardization, through prescribed algorithms. We forget that the lamb in front of us will age, will die, just as we will age, will die.
And in a hundred years, the crocuses will again break through the frozen ground, as alive as you and I are alive today, with as much purpose.
If you do not know what our purpose is for being here, and it is unlikely that you do, then why do you impose the will of strangers on the children in your community?
I think we all need to spend a day just silently watching the sun wend its way across the sky.