Good friday and I’m waiting…
I’m suspended here, in this floating space just before Pascha,
in the air, in the water, it’s hard to explain.
Before I have coffee in the morning there’s that groggy brain poking through, telling me I have to get up, get going, get things done but I’m not really listening. It’s automatic now, this waking up at 6am whether I need to be up or not. And so I get up, stretch my arms, rub my eyes and slouch toward the door, toward the stairs, toward the kitchen and the coffee maker and the brewing.
It’s Good Friday. Where’s Lent gone, anyway?
The commercials make it seem as though it’s the scent of the coffee brewing that really starts to lift the veil of sleep but you know, that’s kind of a lie. All it does is make me hunger for the coffee. I’m not more awake or more ready…
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