On this day, I sit so still
As if I’m stalking the earth.
It is a good Friday, any way you slice it.
My eyes open and close to sunlight
And shadow-then wind and stillness.
With early clouds floating by,
I tune in to songbirds and wait
For new colorful wings to arrive.
Sun hits my legs, hot and burning,
Till a breeze returns, cools me
And flips the pages of my opened book.
Spring endures, regardless of what I believe
On this breezy Friday before Easter.
In a straw lined bowl on the counter,
The hardboiled eggs, dyed and arranged
Wait to be tapped and rolled on Sunday
Uncovering the opaque white that protects
The golden prize inside.