It is Good Friday, as a child I never could figure out why it was called "Good" as an adult I still have a hard time wrapping my mind completely around the "Good" concept. Good for us Christians, not so great for Jesus who suffered on the cross.
I have been reading Rabindranath Tagore during Lent, a translation called The Gardener. I have been sharing this wonderful book with Far Guy.. I read poetry to him while he cooks..it may seem a bit strange to you that I chose a poet from India to read during Lent. However I truly enjoy Tagore, he makes me think...
Since I believe that Lent is a time for inward reflection..but outward reaction. I will share with you the last entry.
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
So today I will send my readers one single flower ( from last summer) from my wild rose bush, with some buds not yet unfurled..and some remnants of spent blooms. I hope you are gathering some fragrant memories of your own:)