#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

“. . . What is all this juice and all this joy?         

   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning

In Eden garden. . .”

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins, Excerpt from “Spring”

For so many years our Easter has been with my father’s family, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews at my brother’s house nearby. Not today. My sister-in-law texts me early, to say Happy Easter. We will miss each other, our traditions, today. So many years of Easter egg hunts and soccer games in the yard. Instead, I walk into the woods with Charlie and I call her so we can have a long talk about change, and adapting to it. I walk past the wetlands and muck around there for awhile in the sunshine. It’s a beautiful day to be outdoors, and I have energy. More yard work. I rake and clean up another garden bed, where the herbs grow, and there’s a lovely fragrance of mint and chives and lavender leftover. Frank has roused the girls to help him move the arch from the river to the garden and they hold it up while he fills in the holes, and then it’s standing, the entrance we’ll walk through to get to the garden, once it’s planted. Later in the afternoon my son comes and brings his flute. My daughters have both prepared readings. We gather to bless the garden and my son plays his flute. We are all together, making new beginnings. How blessed I am for Easter. And it’s obvious to all of us. How we are grateful for this time together, for feeling whole and connected to each other. Frank talks about my father’s garden and asks each of us what we remember about it. One thing I remember most: visiting my father’s garden when he was toiling in it, so I could talk. And tell him even though I did not even know it yet, but he did. I was in love with Frank.