Devotions - Day 8
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It was on the Sunday (ii)
It was on the Sunday that he pulled the corn. They arrived with flowers, shuffling through the dawn as the dawn snuffed out the last candles of night. Their faces betrayed their belief that yesterday would always be better than tomorrow, despite what he said. He would not say it again, so why bother to believe him on that score? And the flowers, they too were silent witnesses to disbelief. Like the grass, they were cut to be dried to death, cut off from the root, the bulb, the source of life. He was the flower they cherished, the flower now perished whose fate the lilies of the field, now tight in hand, would re-enact. So when they passed the crouched figure at the edge of the road, they thought little of him, scarcely seeing his form through their tears. Had they looked even a little, they would have seen a man letting grain fall through his fingers, dropping to the earth to die and yet to rise again. It was on the Sunday that he pulled the corn. |
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