It seems so strange that in the heart of Spring we are cooped up
indoors around the world. This is when we celebrate new life, rebirth; all is fresh-green
and petal-colored. But here we are, pacing the floors, debating whether it’s
safe to open the windows, plotting when and how to make a grocery run.
Millions are also logging on to virtual services to celebrate
Easter—the resurrection of Christ—instead of gathering at sunrise in parks or
in churches to sing joyful hymns and proclaim, “He is risen!” (Except for the
evangelicals who defy both law and science.) And that, too, is weird—to not be
surrounded by the music and the ritual; to express your hope and joy alone or
with just your family. Churches can't even ring peals; can't pull the sallies with six feet of distance between ringers.
Well, that’s where we are. So here’s my entry for National Poetry
Month for today, a haiku by someone named Mary Havran. I know nothing about
her, but I really like this. Something different for a really different Easter.
“Easter lilies”
Trumpet shaped bloom
Good News sounds forth from tomb
Lilies shout Glory
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