It’s Easter Sunday
long before dawn.
The moon lies low in the horizon,
looking slightly harried
from it’s all night vigil.
Across the road,
the forsythia is silent–
it’s bright yellow hues
dampened by the darkness.
The children are sleeping,
except for the toddler,
who briefly wakes
for a bottle, then curls up
and returns to her dreams.
The world does not yet know
that the glorious resurrection
is about to take place–
the silence of Holy Saturday
continues throughout the night.
With Mary, I watch and wait in hope
for the tomb to be unsealed
and Life to burst forth
in triumph.