A POEM A DAY - EASTER





Easter is a busy time in my village as houses fill with people coming back to their family homes. The church is full on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and at Midnight Mass and Sunday morning Resurrection Mass. The band accompanies the village on the Good Friday solemn procession and again at dawn on Sunday morning with the staging of the 'Encuentro'. I have been involved in the 'Encuentro since my eldest daughter first played in the band and more so since we moved to our home in the centre of the village. The band assembles before first light, youngsters bleary eyed from nights without sleep at their Easter camps. The streets are silent as a column of men process with the statue of a prone Jesus passing my house, whilst the village women walk behind the statue of Mary cloaked in mourning black. The two meet as the sun rises in the bakers street where a young 'Festera', her hair dressed with a black mantilla, removes the cloak to reveal Mary in her golden glory, in celebration of her son's resurrection. The band play and pigeons are released to fly around the street. 

This year there was no 'Encuentro', the village is empty and quiet with everyone in their homes. There will be no family celebrations, no paellas,  kite flying, children running around the football ground eating their sweet bread ' monas' like every other year. We will all be in touch with the miracle of modern communications and we will share in our family love and village community with messages and photographs. We are reminded of better times by the delicious smell of baking monas from the nearby village bakery and our own home cooked attempts. Hot cross buns remind me of my mother and our shared love of  spicy hot cross buns and toasted tea cakes. She is in my thoughts today, as are all my family and friends across the world. 

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