In the dust of the new year.....
My wife and son dragged the tree up to the park yesterday and fed it to the choppers, thrilled to watch it spray out the other end in a mist of wood and wintery perfume. Mulch Fest NYC. We look forward to that post-Christmas march up the block every year. Even if you don't do Christmas, this is a ritual you can understand and fully enjoy just by watching and sniffing (that pine scent is wonderful, isn't it?). Dust to dust, or something like that, is part of our shared experience regardless of religion. Living in Brooklyn allows me to brush shoulders with every faith and flavor of doubt that's ever watched the winter sun grow shorter - or so it seems. My rabbi lives downstairs, my priest a few blocks from here, and my Wiccan friend across the street. Other neighbors decorate the Orthodox or Islamic calendars, but we all toast the fireworks on January 1, and then get together a few weeks later to enjoy Spring Festival. It's easy to exaggerate the ecumenicism (think: