The large, iron, and potentially life size crucifix I have in my yard fell over in the wind last night, on good friday. At least I assume it was before midnight.

Amongst my most prized posessions, that work of art is not something I’m keen on leaving on the ground, even if it lives outside. But, it felt too appropriate not to. Now I get to look at it, forlorn out there on the wet earth, even though it’s sunny. 

I’ll go to Quaker meeting in the morning, meditating on the good news, and I’ll get to come home and get my hands rusty as I lift him up, facing east, on the east side of my property.

I think that sounds like a nice Eastet tradition, and now with Roby around, traditions are what I’m looking for. Things to make us thing and reflect and see the turn of the year. I think next time I might ritually lower him onto some sort of wooden cradle instead of allowing the iron to be slammed onto the ground in the middle of the night. Not especially dignified that. But I suppose it wouldn’t be. 

I was thinking this evening, what would it be like if our calendar were not cyclical, but linear. If we concieved of our time and our dates not as in the repeating days and dates and season, but continous. Not, we can have that done in April, or next spring, but on day 739,266. 

Put like that it doesn’t seem all that long since His birthday.