Holy Saturday

There is change in the air,
a hopeful, warm sun
on this holy afternoon.
I am drawn outside,
... to smell the waiting earth,
to listen to the redwings
proclaim a message
which I cannot understand.
And then I know it is time
to do one of the things
which I must do
on my knees.
I scratch a cross
in the welcoming soil,
fling in a handful of shriveled peas,
and cover them with earth.
Like prayer,
resurrection can not be rushed.
It is a thing
that leaves us with dirty hands
and bent knees
on a sweet March afternoon,
makes us get up, go home,
and wait.
 
--Timothy Haut, Deep River, CT