I noticed blossom was out in the rain on the approach to the roundabout. I took the footbridge over the A23, busy at noon today. On Sundays, quieter, Ben always asks, 'which way would you like to cross, love?' If we're quick, we can take the crossing in two stages, pausing in the mud of the verge midway. Further down the road people must have got desperate to leave Langley Green and get to Sainsbury's; they have forced the iron railings apart. I don't feel that way today and start to ascend the whirling slope upwards. I am part of the motion of the ring road, walking round and round, higher over the bridge more choreographed than engineered. Below, cars and lorries dosy-doe, they swing their partners round and round, they wait their turn to join the dance, keeping to the left, keeping in step. Then, dizzy, they swing out of the circle and up towards the many other roundabouts on the roads to Gatwick, Horsham and Pease Pottage. A coach took a twirl today, emblazoned on its side, 'Knights Travel'. Indeed, why should this not be a place abroad for chivalric adventure?
Yes, the blossom is out, pink and purple and so are daffodils. Easter is happening, making all things new. In shops, walls of eggs have been put together again. All the king's horses and all the king's men have been busy in the Co-op and Sainsbury's and no doubt all the other supermarkets that orbit the town.
In school today we read the Easter story during milk time. Children drew pictures of stick men on crosses captioned, 'jesus did on the cros' and wrote 'a happy day' or 'jesus is uliv' above angels and empty tombs. Then we tidied up and it was art. We were learning to observe, looking at pictures of tigers and smudging oil pastels in bright orange and black stripes across good-quality paper that was not to be wasted.
In Sunday School yesterday, we cut out palm leaves for next week's arrival in Jerusalem and made banners with poster paint: 'Hosanna,' Jesus saves,' 'God is boss.' Karen asked what they would do if Jesus rode a donkey in to Crawley. One child would worship. One would ask him to sort out her nan. One would ask for anything what he wanted. One would bow down. She got down onto the carpet and put her head to the ground, arms outstreched to show us how.
I thought of how happy that would make the old Jamaican man who, much to the merriment of his congregation, had brought something of a prophetic dance to the worship concert Ben and I snuck into the night before. He had asked for the reggae beats to be broadcast loud. No, louder. He looked over the control desk and showed the sound crew how to twist the knob. When they had found his preferred level of amplification, he danced to the rhythm then began his song. 'Craalay pe-ople! Craaaaalay PIAPAW! Bow DOWN to Jesus!'
Yes, the blossom is out, pink and purple and so are daffodils. Easter is happening, making all things new. In shops, walls of eggs have been put together again. All the king's horses and all the king's men have been busy in the Co-op and Sainsbury's and no doubt all the other supermarkets that orbit the town.
In school today we read the Easter story during milk time. Children drew pictures of stick men on crosses captioned, 'jesus did on the cros' and wrote 'a happy day' or 'jesus is uliv' above angels and empty tombs. Then we tidied up and it was art. We were learning to observe, looking at pictures of tigers and smudging oil pastels in bright orange and black stripes across good-quality paper that was not to be wasted.
In Sunday School yesterday, we cut out palm leaves for next week's arrival in Jerusalem and made banners with poster paint: 'Hosanna,' Jesus saves,' 'God is boss.' Karen asked what they would do if Jesus rode a donkey in to Crawley. One child would worship. One would ask him to sort out her nan. One would ask for anything what he wanted. One would bow down. She got down onto the carpet and put her head to the ground, arms outstreched to show us how.
I thought of how happy that would make the old Jamaican man who, much to the merriment of his congregation, had brought something of a prophetic dance to the worship concert Ben and I snuck into the night before. He had asked for the reggae beats to be broadcast loud. No, louder. He looked over the control desk and showed the sound crew how to twist the knob. When they had found his preferred level of amplification, he danced to the rhythm then began his song. 'Craalay pe-ople! Craaaaalay PIAPAW! Bow DOWN to Jesus!'
