Except, maybe we are.
Standing on a hill with no protection from driving wind as we did a committal, I couldn't help but think of the Great Plains in winter with frigid blowing air. At least it got my mind off of the fact that I couldn't feel my toes anymore. Later, it started to hail. Peering out of my window at the grey sky, I wondered if maybe I had somehow been transported back to Kansas. Was the sky looking a little bit greener? Was that a tornado coming my way through the downpour? Oh, no. Just a very large, white truck on a very small street...
In the car on the way to the gravesite earlier in the day, I was talking with our head pastor and a retired pastor who is one of our members. In N.Ireland, one contended, graveyards seem always to be built on the coldest, most windswept hills around. Yes, the other agreed, because those were the only bits of land the farmers were willing to sell.
Maybe. I'm just glad I can feel my toes again. I think I need boots.
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