Easter at the Edge of Dawn

Happy Easter everyone

A brief seasonal pause from contracts, land questions, and court papers—because even practical weeks deserve a little quiet reflection.

Easter has always carried two moods at once: light and shadow, resurrection and silence, lilies and lingering rain. Even in its brightest traditions, there is something quietly gothic in the image of dawn arriving at a stone once sealed, the air still cool, the world not yet fully awake. This small Easter reflection leans gently into that contrast—faith, old earth, and even a rabbit with questionable intentions.

Easter at the Edge of Dawn

The stone lay still in morning mist,

while bells awoke the sleeping air,

and somewhere past the cypress trees

a whispered prayer rose soft as prayer.

Even the ravens, dark and wise,

seemed less severe in amber light—

as if they too had heard the news:

that death had stumbled in the night.

The lilies stood like chapel candles,

white against the earth’s old stain,

while somewhere near a stubborn rabbit

surveyed the garden after rain.

He paused beside the open path,

looked solemn as a parish clerk,

then stole a crust from Easter bread

and vanished back where shadows lurk.

For resurrection comes in layers—

in sacred word, in warming ground,

in cracked old hearts that still remember

how mercy often makes no sound.

And if the saints smile faintly now,

perhaps they smile at earthly ways:

we praise the Lamb, misplace the eggs,

then burn the ham on holy days.

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