it's a cinnamon sort of sunday.


It's ten forty, I'm about to head out the door to spend time with my church. I'm reading poetry this morning. I'll read four poems, three from Ernesto Cardenal and one from Miguel de Unamuno. Both are priests, both got in trouble for edgy theology, both believed in freedom and God and the power of poetry. Gotta love my poet priests.


You cover us like the snow of this winter morning.
I hear you in the crows call,
the grunting of the pigs eating,
and the horn of the car on the highway

(ernesto cardenal)


I to my church.
I hope today that you will feel Christ with you, even if you're not used to the feeling.