Grace and Peace to you.
Beth and I walked up the road to see the sheep the other day, the trees still bare but the air gentle, and daffodils just making their appearance. Little lambs stumped behind their mamas on their stilty legs, suddenly running, then stalling, then nibbling at grass, uttering their bleats that sound halfway between laughing and crying. The moms munched unconcerned. In a separate pen, rams munched just like everybody else.
None of the lambs know that it’s the week before Passover. They seem perfectly happy. And none of the people notice Jesus among the lambs, bleating and cavorting and laughing with them.
Sheep-like clouds all day
and a gentle breeze like lambs
gone to the slaughter;
to a nearly unbearable degree,
but it will be spent at the last,
giving way to light,