The road received me with countless others,
as it did that week---but that was somehow different.
The garden where He taught, beneath the shade;
the brook Cedron, where we splashed in the afternoon,
where He liked to cool His feet after the hot stones
of the pavement around the Temple:
in those places, He made our spirits soar
(even ours, although we once resided in Decapolis)
by making the Scriptures come alive in the way He spoke them.
He had told us, more than once, He must die in Jerusalem.
And we pretended, now, not to believe Him,
we who had, once, so intensely believed Him . . .
Starward
[jlc]