Sunday, March 23, 2008

Easter Sunday; 2008

(Over the meadow, through the woods; this photo was taken in the summer. It's now nearly spring.)

Today is Easter Sunday, and we woke to a bright sky, pale blue. A wondrous thing to have birds singing in the trees, on the rise overhead, hawks and crows patrolling our green patch on this holiest of holy days. I'm not a believer- not in the way the hegemony would have us worship- but I do recognize the sanctity of Easter for the ways that it draws family and community inwards; in this I see spirit, a net encompassing long dead and not yet born.

So I snuck downstairs quietly, so as not to wake Abby- which of course I did- and made some coffee, stacking into a queue many records with which I would call down the Easter spirits; they're all Christian in orientation, but they didn't have to be. I could also have played Terry Riley's "Descending Moonshine Dervishes."

On this Easter morn, 2008, we heard: Shirley Caesar. Washington Phillips. The Jackson Southernaires. Charlie Jackson.

The world's in a terrible fix.
Men in darkness.
Men on their way to destruction.
Save, Lord. Save, Lord.
O Jesus.
O God: Let us know that you're here
in this proud meeting.
-Reverend Louis Overstreet

This jam session was followed by brunch at Crook's Corner, surrounded by church folks, recently sent forth from Easter service like a flock of birds, in all their finery: clip-on ties, penny loafers, navy jackets with brass buttons. I had the shrimp and grits (continuing my pursuit of low country cuisine). It was very, very good.

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