I’m sitting up tending a pot of palms as they slowly disintegrate into ash. Under the surface red and orange molten lava moves, shifting and sifting through the burnt and unburnt bits and branches, preparing their repentance for their part in the play, the opening scene in which they waved and hailed the King, the Prince of Peace.
Moving backwards through the calendar from Palm Sunday through Lent to Ash Wednesday and back through the night, this night, to the present, and back, back to a hopeful day in sunnier climes and dangerous times, they burn with a passion.
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