Maybe dancing till late.

Maybe feeling God died and then got over it.

Maybe knowing always somewhere trees are growing.

The door hanger inviting people to an Easter sunrise service had a tree photgraph shooting our rays and optimistic colors, pink yellow, gree, and looked like its tree came frm the same computer clip art series used to invite people on a club card to dance in a bar after sunset and before sunrise.

Hope. How to.

In the Arctic tundra, trees a hundred years old are as tall as a thumb. They, too, are always growing