I saw a tractor clanking a heavy metal device across a ploughed field, breaking up the lumps. “Only a man harrowing clods in a slow, silent walk, and an old horse that stumbles and nods, half asleep as they stalk.” Funny, in victorian times, humble people could have horses. Now horses belong to the wealthy.
Anyway, I was once told that between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, Jesus harrowed hell. It seems to me that we make stories of the unknowable to fill the awkward emptiness of Easter Saturday. Why can’t we just let it be what it is, awkward and empty? My best friend has just been killed, after all.
