Today we stacked wood. All of us, the whole family. Now tired, but satisfied, we relax inside. Daughter Rebekah snuggles close: “Now we’ll be nice and warm and cuddly for the whole winter.” She wriggles comfortably at the thought.

The late afternoon sun had caught the sugar maples as we’d worked, turning the red-orange leaves into miniature flaming sunsets down the street. Stacking wood as the air chilled, our breath turning white in the stillness. A time of evening, of ending.

Yet an activity of hope, of expectation. Because we hope to see the winter through.

Have you contemplated how much of your life is unreal? Strange thought, perhaps, but consider.

How much time do watch TV? Or videos? Or other similar reality substitutes like computer games. Or even fantasy books, escapist literature of all kinds... Today's term is virtual reality. It looks real, it sounds real, it feels real--but it's not.