Today is green. The hills to the east look like springtime, rolling and moist with March growth. The memories of my beautiful beloved Irish lasses brighten my spirit. I have a feeling that somewhere in Boston, someone is drinking green beer and singing of roses and smiling eyes. There is joy in the blooming things and memories. Even as the earth suffers, even as hours of waiting and terror continue. This Lenten Writing practice feels so much less creative than intended. Yet, for brief moments today, I am looking at the sprouts of shamrocks seeking luck and hope.
Writing Prompt: I am surprised by….