Ten-Finger Exercises

Easter Monday

There is a window in our living room where an air conditioner used to reside. It's about twice as wide as the unit was and high up on the wall, facing west. It gives me a view of the sunsets, the new leaves on the linden tree and cedar trees behind it. Occasionally I see violent movement of one limb, sometimes a flash of a squirrel tail. More often I see gentle, harmonious movement unless the wind is really ripping. Today while trying to write my Monday poem I noticed the following.

Easter Monday

One side of the linden tree
shows through the window,
one branch swaying to and fro,
one bobbing up and down,
the others still.
How is it that the wind is so
Selective ?

I used to feel irritated
on Easter morning
that we had to hunt eggs early
then leave to go to church.
Years later, egg hunts in the past,
I was irritated
to see how many people came
to church that day and yet no other time.

Yesterday two hundred faces,
old and new, known and unknown,
brought me only joy.
How is it that the wind, the spirit,
finally bobbed me up and down?

It's not that I think I'm a very good poet. I don't even really identify with the word, unlike some in my writing group. But because I haven't been here in so long, I'm giving you what I've got.

The thing I noticed yesterday evening, after spending half a day at church, was the number of Facebook posts about it with pictures. Almost all of them were of Easter baskets if not colored eggs, and the contents of the baskets ranged from candy to tee shirts to games. It's become another secular holiday like Christmas has, celebrated by many mainly as an excuse to decorate and give presents. The family dinners and the egg hunts--I'm glad those custom haven't been lost, but as for the rest, hmph.