Easter Vigil

Yesterday I walked in the rare calm of an Iowa spring as the sunlight salvaged a day otherwise consigned to clouds.

I passed, with gentle acknowledgment, blackened fields—intentionally burned to allow for new growth of the restored native grass. A prescribed burn, a temporary smudge, our collective lull.

I passed, with serendipitous timing, a susurration of dead leaves cleaving to a tree—a subtle symphony as just enough early evening breeze rustled just enough tenacious leaves at just the right time.

I passed, with appropriate physical distance, a student and her family in our new “hallway”—the walking path perpendicular (perhaps; I am not a math teacher) to our empty high school building. This passing period was school in its best form: a smile, a wave, a communion. A small act of grace in the sacramental sunshine of an Easter Vigil. 

Luci Tapahonso said it best:

“I continue. My days: an undercurrent of fear,

                             an outpouring of love,

                             a whispered chant of loneliness.”