We’ll Burn the Palms for Next Year’s Ash
Today is Palm Sunday. I recall this because I saw,
just now, an image with two pieces of wood, tied and
at an angle. I suppose many are celebrating—feasting,
in fact, since it is the end of Lent—the way I am but
with honest hearts.
Lent is done, although the days of ash continue. Nothing
new for planet Earth and the people of it. What do we
know of ash but that it’s final in remembrance?
We might take the stuff and try to rework it, but what it means
remains the same. We are of ash. We’ve tasted it.
We try to contain it, though it’s mischievous in
blowing around. Where does that wind come from?
“Dust in the wind.” “Turn, turn, turn.” Every generation asks
the question, needs an answer, doesn’t get one.
There is ash. It’s everywhere. We think it’s dust, though we’ll never
clear it out. We can’t. As I say with all the singers,
it is us. We are ash.
C L Couch
This was a picture I took just for fun. One of those “that would look cool”-moments. I only realised the contrast between the new, fresh, ready-to-burn wood and the spent ashes of a campfire, like the wood was ready to meet its maker. Kinda sad actually.
This begins a week-long devotional, “Holey Week.” The title is intentionally spelled.