I drive through town
Going to my office
Catching up on what was not done
This past silent Friday
The trees on the roadside
In yards I pass
Heavy with blossoms
Purple
Pink
White
The Easter flowers
leave their cars
Women in spring colors,
Brighter and more varied
Than tree born blooms
Men
More somber in suits
Ties
Splashes
Slashes
Of color
The occasional bowtie
Peeping out
Beneath a double chin
I slow and stop to let them cross
These flowers of the season
I see them orbit full church lots
Looking for a place to park and alight
A Jew passing through a small southern town
My home
My place
Always comfortable
But sometimes
Separate
Which separateness is holy?
Which profane?
Can not both be holy?
I wonder,
As the occasional head
Turns
Follows my slow path
Down the street
Avoiding the riotous spring colors
As they walk to various churches,
Are they surprised
On this holy day?
Are they like me on
Yom Kippur
Looking out from the door of the sanctuary
Shocked that the world is not still?
Holding its breath?
Awestruck on an awesome day?
I take joy in the spring flowers
Planted and nurtured by The Gardner
The Gardner who planted and nurtured me.
I smile and take comfort
I am lifted up by the reflection
How lovely the outward colors of spring
How greater the beauty
I know
Must lie within.
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