A phrase attributed to Black Elk is, the holy land is everywhere. I love this idea. My tiny piece of holy land is the marsh that fronts our little village, and in fact my town has me pay taxes on a large piece of marsh I can't actually use beyond staring at it and loving it.
Yesterday the warm low pressure had moved in, drenching us and melting most of the snow. Today the high pressure and arctic thermometer have returned. The marsh is frozen. Even part of the Dyer River is iced over, something I usually haven't seen this early in the winter.
Each day without exception, the holy world around us brings compelling change and sublime beauty.
