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I’m not religious (despite my parents’ best efforts to raise both of their girls as good Episcopalians), but some November days, when I’m walking my dog at lunch and the sun is making the naked trees silver and the shorn hayfields gold, the wind is whipping through my hair and lungs, I can’t help but think of a phrase that used to open the Sunday service. 

“Rejoice, for this is the day the Lord hath made.”

I don’t know if it it was made or just happened, but I’m happy just standing at the top of this hill as the dog sniffs the dead leaves and I ponder the question.

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