The audacity to admit that my truth changes over time.

That absolutes exist only for that moment.

Where I will argue from the core of my being that the sky is blue.

Then shout you down when you dare to do the same.

I will stand with my back to my beliefs.

As I lean upon them for truth.

On September 11 2001, 3000 people died as streaks of hatred crashed into symbols of prosperity. Sitting in front of my TV in Islamabad, I cringed with sorrow and shame, and cried alongside a grieving world.

Since that day, over 300,000 people have been killed in Pakistan, Afghanistan and the Middle East as a direct consequence of that initial attack.

With each new death, my sorrow turns into questions, my questions into pain, my pain into…

Poets have rhapsodized the sadness associated with the end of spring. But as I sit here at work, looking out the window at the melting snow, I am saddened. Long icicles that hung from shingles slowly drip away into oblivion, and puddles form near drains. Snow that was pristine is now dotted with slushy black guck. A workman sits atop a ladder and works at clearing the roof. 

Winter is going away.