Rivers of Ohio rain cascaded into March, flooding streams and roads, then turned, one evening,into snow, despite the 36 degrees and the way the groundhog, one month before, missed his shadow.So there I was by the road, bending down, picking up my mailbox knocked down once againby snow swept into it, the plow's force strong enough to push a person over, but not reallymassive, the favorite word that morning as the media described the 9.0 quake in Japan, the ensuingtsunami. The axis of the whole world shifted several inches, they told us, shortening the day by 1.8 microseconds,so unlike Joshua's lingering sun. And no horns signaled heroic victory. No moon refused to rise.Only the dark storm of radiation loomed above like a god gone awry, while some kneeled in water, or snow,begging for a word of explanation.
Christine Pohl on sustainable congregations, Martin Copenhaver on the food movement, Amy Frykholm talks to immigration activist Isabel Castillo.
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