the st louis paper is full of how the maramec has shot its banks and flooded much of missouri that is just across the mississippi from us...over here, the big muddy, which is its own river and not just another name for the mississippi, has also shot its banks and put a lot of people under water. then it turned cold, very cold, march windy & bleak cold, making me glad we weren't trying to camp again as we always used to do on easter sunday. around town cars gathered in church parking lots and i knew there were lots of hats out there, but all i could think of was water spouting up from the center of our own sunset boulevard (sunset drive), our main commuting artery in from west carbondale, water just shooting up from below where it was clearly full. easter is about renewal, about flowers, about the sun coming back out, the days getting longer, the green appearing and all, but it's also about jesus, though in my crowd they don't argue about him all that much, or the whole story, which really scares the little children, and which, in all its detail, is painful. we dyed some eggs, and hid them out on the labyrinth, and got ready for a quaker play that isn't quite done yet, but mostly, i ate a sweet roll for old times' sake, & watched the kids running around excitedly pulling bright eggs out of overgrown dead grasses. i was able to pull the paas out of the back of the cupboard where it sat for a long long time, as i'd been one paas ahead for as long as i could remember, and i always overdo it on the vinegar and the dye though i cooked the eggs just right this year, and the names of the kids faded as plain white crayon is just no competition at all for all that dye, and the stickers never stick to them at all since they stay wet for several days, even in a refrigerator. all in all it was not a smooth & gentle holiday, there was a lot going on and big storm clouds in the west, and at one point as we were driving home, though it was only about a mile, it snowed and rained and pounded on the van a little, menacing, as if more flooding was to come. and maybe it could, who knows, seems like the earth is mad, can't take it any more, and is giving us all a litte rockin' 'til we straighten out & do right. the day was cold, gray, foreboding, but the air was fresh, and there wasn't much of the usual restaurant customers coming & going from the parking lot, they kind of left the labyrinth to us today, so our kids could tear around, find eggs, do the labyrinth, eat candy. i pondered the idea that the whole place was put on an ancient creekbed, but this was never much more than a rumor, one i'm trying to get to the bottom of, for the sake of the play. it explains the sogginess, the regular flooding, the crawdad holes in the grass, though, even when the trains stop, for an entire day, the tracks tower over the place, and make you forget its gentle slope down, north and east, towards the low spot where i got stuck the other day. i think we left a couple of eggs out there, in the high & dead grasses and tucked into the bushes, & i'm not sure what kinds of wild animals come out and have at them when the day is done, but that's kind of a tradition. you can't hide over forty eggs, and expect the kids to bring back every single one of them...there's a little sense of discord there, of unfinished business, of a paas full of powerful dye, that doesn't mellow with time, that is still there even after you paint the cupboard, and the feeling of things that don't sit well together, in our case boiled eggs, easter candy and sweet roll, but horseradish also comes to mind. and what's with the water spouting out of the center of our road? we're having construction done soon, opening out the bad roof in the back of the house, building up- and i hope the earth will hold it, don't want these rivers to mess with us. i'm glad i'm not on the maramec- and i send out a prayer, not only for those who are, but also those in the family, who i failed to call, or reach out to, in my hurry, my rattled sense of always short on time, always a little unable to enjoy the day, the moment, the kids. the play, i hope, will expand a little, be a gift to them, maybe a gift to the moment, one that won't be around forever, as the building is due to be razed. and, by chance, or not, depending on how you see these things, the date for the play was set today at april 20. columbine day, day we got corey, day right on the other side of the cusp, the cusp between aries the pioneer, and taurus the settler, on the other side of the mirror from my birthday. a person doesn't have to buy in to the significance of astrology, numerology, date-worship, calendar mysticism. but as the years fly by, as one day turns into another, as another spring comes up, out of the ground, from nowhere, from a mere promise, hey, this one is about where god and the soul come together, where we cross the threshold. there are many versions of the story, but it doesn't matter, it's a miracle every time, with every child, with every willow bud. the smell of vinegar lingers in the kitchen, a little dye on the counter. night has fallen, it's actually already the next day. and i'm off to bed, another long week ahead. god bless you all, for another year, the unfolding one.