and so it begins: the darkness and the light

The afternoon before Palm Sunday, we spent a few hours raking and hauling leaves from our front garden back into the wetlands. I gave another hour to that work yesterday and almost two more today. The leaves are almost gone. My old back is tired but getting stronger again. My legs are a bit wobbly, too from all the deep knee bends needed to pick up the mess. And next week I'll do it all over again in the other garden beds. But being outside in the sun, plants and dirt is one of my favorite ways of returning thanks to God for the gift of life in creation. I have been hungry for this since returning from the warm sunshine of Tucson in January and our deep friendships.

On Palm Sunday we went for a long walk with Lucie, our special needs dog, and did so again today. My friend and old partner in song, Hal, wrote a lovely tune some 20 years ago called "People Wave." (Take a listen to it here @ https://open.spotify.com/album/0CZLsA6hsPZqZVeMUUJnsT) Wandering around the streets of our neighborhood during the "shelter in place" days of the contagion feels a lot like that song: strangers waving to one another in passing cars, residents we've never met saying out loud how good spring time feels albeit from the safety of the other side of the road, and little ones running around their yards playing ball or blowing bubbles. 

The quiet pleasures here seem a world away from the death that has enveloped so much of the world - and now our own nation. We've made certain to have another two weeks of supplies stocked up so we're ready to ride out what many say will be the worst of the pandemic in our area. One news person noted that this will likely be the most excruciating two weeks in our collective history - worse than the death toll of WWII - as we'll all know at least someone who has passed in this plague. 

The incongruity of that truth kept echoing in my head as we shopped yesterday (we can't even get on a list right now for home delivery.) While gloved and masked, I kept trying to get around a man older than myself who was shopping alongside his 40 something son and seven year old grand-daughter. They moseyed their way through the store in their own world touching this and that without any protective personal gear in sight. How can some be so self-centered I wondered? It made me realize, yet again, that there may be fewer cases of the virus here - and fewer people, too - but we're all vulnerable: wise, foolish, informed and belligerent. 

And now I just saw the news that John Prine has died - gone home beyond all suffering - at age 73. (Read the Rolling Stone article about his life and legacy here @ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-country/johnprineobit253684/fbclid=IwAR1mM3w55aUww61ZGc3NINXlrzXGh1D0mPwU4K9wfLzqQeTUt0K_hcBRcLQ) Time for me to sign off and sing "Angel from Montgomery" for a spell. And so it begins for me: the darkness and the light.