I drive through townGoing 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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