On Easter Mourning
*This was written this morning on my Mother's screened in front porch, where I went to meditate, hoping for a few moments of solitude, and so I began to write freely and without scrutiny as I would prefer it be read... -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's Sunday morning, Easter. The sky is blue, and the birds are singing their Mourning [sic] tune. This slight chill in the air is all that is helping me make it through. I'm sitting out on the front porch, looking out on the yard where I grew up--this place that I've called 'Home' since before I even had memories. So, why do I feel like a stranger here? It's like all of a sudden, I'm a passerby in a foreign land. Maybe I have slipped through a wormhole and fallen into an alternate plane. Maybe the 'other Me' is happy, smiling and worry-free with no stench of death surrounding... not posing in anticipation of the darkness to come, reflecting on the darkness ...