(“And
what we believe is that the One who raised up the Master Jesus will just as
certainly raise us up with you, alive.” 2 Corinthians 4:14 [The Message])
The
pungent scent of dew still wafted from the meadow,
the spice of the earth,
the residue of a warm front raising the humidity high on a mid-morning
April.
“90 degrees in the shade,” they said it would be,
so handfuls of souls followed paths at an acceptable distance
and then to find refuge in their homes later in the day.
the spice of the earth,
the residue of a warm front raising the humidity high on a mid-morning
April.
“90 degrees in the shade,” they said it would be,
so handfuls of souls followed paths at an acceptable distance
and then to find refuge in their homes later in the day.
A
rabbit ran across the trail, pecan-brown and cottontail,
and disappeared inside the silver leaves still gleaming in morning anticipation.
He knew, we presume, the humans would try to capture
his very soul if he let them.
and disappeared inside the silver leaves still gleaming in morning anticipation.
He knew, we presume, the humans would try to capture
his very soul if he let them.
Trails
hardly change from day to day,
but the sky, the atmosphere does. Halfway around
the mown down grass, dime-size butterflies surprise
the hikes of those who crave wildflowers, silence and
outdoor exercise.
but the sky, the atmosphere does. Halfway around
the mown down grass, dime-size butterflies surprise
the hikes of those who crave wildflowers, silence and
outdoor exercise.
What
could be better, croissant and coffee in hand, to ignore the demands
of a Wednesday workday with everyone sheltered at home?
Alone on a mudded path, ascending the knob to see the
pond; it was
occupied by a
girl and her dog.
of a Wednesday workday with everyone sheltered at home?
Alone on a mudded path, ascending the knob to see the
pond; it was
occupied by a
girl and her dog.
Early
Spring still has winter in its breath, minty and sharp,
though the hammer will drop by midafternoon. All the school
children are home
spelling numerals and words with chalk on the ground.
though the hammer will drop by midafternoon. All the school
children are home
spelling numerals and words with chalk on the ground.
But
before summer’s prophecy, the meadow invites footprints,
pruning, blooming and life.
pruning, blooming and life.
Why
wouldn’t a family be impressed by a meadow bursting with bluebells?
Why wouldn’t they pose their tiny daughters in cerulean like
Caribbean beaches
with orange bows happily balanced upon their
blonde curling in the heavy air.
Why wouldn’t they take every photo possible,
babies in blue on blue; babies who may renew the memory
decades from now and visit the meadow with their own littles
in tow,
to show them the time, one Easter time, when life was found
in the open, in a meadow, in laughter, in the outflow of
love and necessity. The first resurrection, after all,
was discovered one morning in a garden.
Why wouldn’t they pose their tiny daughters in cerulean like
Caribbean beaches
with orange bows happily balanced upon their
blonde curling in the heavy air.
Why wouldn’t they take every photo possible,
babies in blue on blue; babies who may renew the memory
decades from now and visit the meadow with their own littles
in tow,
to show them the time, one Easter time, when life was found
in the open, in a meadow, in laughter, in the outflow of
love and necessity. The first resurrection, after all,
was discovered one morning in a garden.
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