The spring sunshine revs up Bon Iver like an engine. By the time I put the coffee on he’s made the rounds through the pastures, replaced a broken salt lick, practiced his bird calls, dug a post hole, climbed up on the roof to observe a suspicious dust cloud, and written me a love note and tucked it into my apron.
After breakfast he is fast asleep on the rug with jelly in his beard, a hammer in his hand.
There is a good chance I will wish you a Merry Christmas this year. I’m episcopalian, Christmas is a big holiday for me. It’s not the biggest, just as Hanukkah isn’t the biggest for my Jewish friends, or Kwanzaa isn’t the biggest holiday for anyone, at all, ever. If I meet you however, and you…
I wrote this last year, now I’m reposting. I’m lazy, and it’s still relevant, deal with it.