As a child, when I lived in the tropics, the idea of resurrection was to me a distant myth of languid crucifixes and dogmatic churches. In the tropics, I had no tangible reality with which to relate this myth.
In the thick green of tropical foliage, leaves and flowers are dying and regenerating constantly, without you ever noticing. In the vicinity of the Arctic Circle, here in Vermont where I live now, it is different.
On these days of April, after five months of total desolation and inexistent foliage, all of a sudden from the last snow on the ground, tiny flowers sprout. Buds appear on tree branches. Life emerges from dry trees.
The miracle of Spring happens under my own eyes. It is a visible re-emergence. It is a clear resurrection. Life returns to my soul too.