Easter Sunday 2009

Easter Sunday.
2009.
A long drive in the sun.
A short walk in the gusting breeze.
Thinking.
A lot.
Basking in the company of
strangers at a coffee shop.
Not talking to them, but just watching,
seeing, wondering if they have
secrets like his.
And wondering what theirs are.
And wondering would they ever tell,
really
tell.
And if they would, to whom?
A friend?
A partner?
A sibling?
A priest?
Or would they keep them to themselves,
afraid of
being known, really known.
Afraid of being absolved?
And, perhaps, even accepted?
That certainly would end the intrigue,
wouldn’t it?
Easter Sunday.
2009.
A long drive in the sun.
A short walk in the chilling breeze.
Thinking.
A lot.
Again.
And maybe too much.
Or not.
As always.