248 The Vineyard After the Storm

On Questions, Quiet, and Who Really Owns the Land

It is 7:52 AM on the Tuesday after Memorial Day.

The house is quiet, but not empty. My father is here. My niece is here. Our dog, Wiggles, is here. The silence I was hoping for to write this has been gently, persistently, filled with the living. It is a good filling. A holy interruption. But it means my stream of thought, my line to the deep water, has b…