#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

It’s not even Easter yet and I’ve started the yard clean up. Multi-tasking with Chippie in the yard. He discovered the Trustees trail today that abuts our property. Of course it’s going to be a great time for us to go for long happy walks on the trail; but for now, I don’t want him to wander after people going by. I’m sure he will, as Charlie always did. Flash was the toughest to manage there because he barked at passersby and it frightened some of them. So I raked and I raked and wheeled leaves to the mulch piles while Chip chased balls and chewed sticks. I re-read the manuscript. Small tweaks. Small tweaks to my final poem that I’ll bring to workshop tomorrow. Sunday dinner without Wave, but with my daughter and son. We all miss Wave. I enjoyed the rest of this weekend. No pickle, but that’s okay. Hard to believe Easter is a week away. I thought of how I used to go to church on Good Friday and Sunday of Easter weekend and enter the rituals so deeply. The hymn in my ears: “Were you there when they laid him in the tomb. . . “ I don’t miss church. I remember the experience of the Holy week and the resurrection and how deeply moving and inspirational it is. There is Easter in my collage tonight.

Gesthemene

The grass never sleeps.

Or the rose.

Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.

Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.

The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,

and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,

and heaven knows if it even sleeps.

Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe

the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move,

maybe

the lake far away, where once he walked as on a

blue pavement,

lay still and waited, wild awake.

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not

keep that vigil, how they must have wept,

so utterly human, knowing this too

must be a part of the story.

— Mary Oliver