Astray 12

Before the Easter vigil I went to Confession to come clean about hardly keeping Lent. I didn’t say the half of it. The priest advised me to read Psalms 51 and 130. You’ll know them, he said, but try to read them with new eyes, then sit in silence. Then: Easter joy. Flowers in the Cathedral, candles, resurrection light. The next day, after mass, a walk in the Broads with Stewart. All winter’s hidden things were coming out from the banks, ditches and reeds. Buds were opening one by one. We saw mining bees and brimstones, skylarks and swallows, heard chiffchaffs and blackcaps. The reeds moved in long shivers. Somewhere inside them a bittern boomed. Stewart stopped and raised his hand. We stood still until it came again. We went on down the muddy path. One thing I’ve found with all this, I said after a while, is that even when you’re just going out of habit and mouthing the words, when you might as well not bother, something can still open. And the more you press on, the richer and deeper…