Happy Easter

This morning, early, I drove purple irises to my mother's grave, where deer had formed a circle around her resting place. They watched me, didn't mind me, barely moved aside as I approached. I left the flowers to sky and sun, to deer, walked back down the hill, and as I drove off a hawk flew beside me—kept its wings down-to-the-ground low until the road bent and the hawk ascended, and we went our separate ways.

Easter is meant to be all sweet things; Easter is hope. I wish sweetness toward all of you today. I hold to hope.