We set out this morning under flat skies and drove through flat lands, flanked by water that reflected nothing. We spoke little along the way, lost as each of us were in our own desaturated landscape. The only steady sound, apart from the engine, was the thin, tinny clicks of my knitting needles.
With the gray of the day fading into night the world came into color again, even if it did so in the cold heat of artificial light.
Jacob Needleman was reading from his latest book tonight at my local bookstore. He was to talk about God. I was at the store for a book group meeting, and I thought about skipping the group to go hear all about faith, belief, hope, but my sister-in-law leads the book group, and though I haven't read the book, it was clear to me that the only choice I could make was to be present for and with the people I know rather than speculate about the God I don't...
