The End of the Tunnel

It's Palm Sunday. It's a bright Spring morning, with just a few flecks of rain. I've had a lot of dry sunny Palm Sundays, and a lot of cold wet and even snowy Good Fridays and Easters. I walk the dogs over the hill to look at the view of the little town spread out below me. The church bells are ringing. We have a lovely Palm Sunday procession, with a very obliging donkey, processing through the town for the service in church. This is my last Palm Sunday, but I'm not there. The Bishop is taking the service. I shall go off to keep Easter quietly on retreat and then come back and carry out the process of extracting myself from the vicarage. I hope, as always, for a meaningful Holy Week, and a joyful celebration of resurrected life.