Four times a year on the equinoxes and solstices, St. Luke, Renton, combines liturgy, mystery, and nature in an evening service open to everyone.
The last time I knew who I was I had acne, four AP classes, and a Bible in my senior photos.
Whenever I tell people about this hunting trip, about my family’s tradition for the past ten years, I share it with a blend of defiance, pride, and defensiveness.
Wildfires ravage and Irma bears down and nuclear tests keep happening, and I am heavy bored.
The fairness and insensitivity of this feels reassuring, like weather or death. Something I cannot change. Something that does not care about me.
I cried last night. Everyone did. Three a.m. and drunk, overcaffeinated.