He Has Risen

At midnight on Sunday morning, amidst the blustering snow and streets that were quiet as packed cotton, fireworks exploded disconcertingly into the grey curtain that had been drawn closed across the April sky.

At first I thought that they were from an Indians game or something. But when I realized they were coming from a completely different direction, my heart warmed to think of some crazy drunken folks trying to wipe away the non-spring weather with a delightful burst of summer.

After I watched them for a bit, I shouted up to E, inquiring about who could possibly be shooting them off. He shouted back down that it was probably one of the Greek churches celebrating the start of Easter.

This made me smile, thinking of people happily braving the cold and crazy Cleveland snow, shuffling around in heavy boots, eyes to sky, excitedly shooting off fireworks in celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. I watched the rest of them with a bit of joyous quiet in my heart.

Serves me right for my cynicism last week.

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