Moon risen, wide eyed we wait. All is ready to burst. Bursts and the silence is shattered and the curtain is torn, and death sighs its own death rattle and a new sun rises to the morn.

My door is open and wisteria is wafting through, and there is sun, and warmth and there are insects and birds and one car after another is rumbling past my home on Thach. Does Thach know? Does my front yard or the wisteria? Does the bird in a cage beside my bed know? Is that why he sings?

Has creation any idea? Anymore aware than the humanity that is blind to what has just burst and broken? To what has just ripped and risen? Death has been denied all authority, yeshua has changed things.

Who knows this? Does your heart feel it, do your bones ache with the weight of knowledge or your lungs ring with deep gulps of air not condemned?

Sun risen, wide eyed I am watching. Old corpses have burst and instead of their death stench something sweeter pours out. Wafts of wisteria and something very alive, something very alive. No veils remain, the sun is warming my front yard. And creation must know that something has changed.