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Some mornings are made for silence.

Silence and tea, or, if you’re not me, silence and coffee. A good beginning is to sit by the window and silently start the day, staring out at the garden box, one of which is still producing ragged overwintered calendula, and a few new lipstick-scarlet poppies. Silence – and darkness – is the hallmark of the Tenebrae service some Protestants celebrate the Friday before Easter. Tenebrae means “shadows” in Latin, and is a service of acknowledgement of the shadows of life, of dark times, pain and suffering. I’m a “ringer” for a local Presbyterian church chorus, so I, with nine other people, masked and properly distanced, took part in filming the achingly gorgeous choral music for a Tenebrae service this Friday… last Sunday night.

We’d filmed Palm Sunday services the previous Thursday night. Oh, and Easter? That was Wednesday.

Everything these days is way, way out of sync, and it feels like we’re just running to catch up with the natural rhythm of things.

muffled in masks, lips
carve lyrics with crisp diction
chasing our heartbeat

Did you know that NPR wants your original poetry? Check out the ways in which you can submit a mini-poem on social media! Meanwhile, Poetry Friday is graciously hosted today by Cousin Mary Lee, whose haiku are always the proper sort. Stop by and succor yourself with more wonderful poetry – don’t miss the Swagger project who took Pat Schnieder’s “The Moon. Ten Times” poem and recreated it beautifully, or the progressive poem.

Happy National Poetry Month!