It snowed all day in Boston.  By coming up a day early to meet with old friends, I missed flying in the storm.  Instead, I spent the day safe and warm indoors, sipping hot tea, catching up with Paul and Linda, and playing some very creative bowling and baseball with Jonathan.  Poor Paul spent a few hours shoveling, while I enjoyed watching the huge fat flakes float down and marveled at the muffled silence of all but the scrape of steel on cement.  The sky was white and bright.

In the evening, they were kind enough to drive me to the hotel I would be staying at during the retreat - the Union Club.  The night was dark, the sky was clear, and the air was bitter cold - like a real winter night, not like the noncommittal winter we'd had so far in DC.  Amazing how even unpleasant things like a biting wind can be pleasant.

Looking out my bedroom window onto the cemetery of Kings Chapel, the snow-frosted tombstones stood out in the moonlight.  So cold.  So old.  So terribly beautiful.  I feel the spark within me burn bright.  I feel... alive.


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