Leaves.
A carpet of leaves
Crunch as they are crushed beneath feet.
Do they conjure the memory of bonfires?
Smoke?
The haze of autumn?
Are these autumn leaves?
Listen.
Is that the wind you hear,
Rustling in the trees?
Listen.
There is rhythm to the sound.
Three beats. Three more, then six.
No wind then.
So why the leaves?
Bruised and crushed, littering the road ahead?
Look again?
Not autumn leaves these.
Fronds.
Palm branches.
The wind blows more strongly
Scattering the crushed branches
And the beat you hear strengthens.
In the distance there is dust
Billowing towards you,
Kicked up by many feet.
And for one whole moment you hear the beat.
This time the words are clear.
"Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David!"
Three. Three more, then six.
Hosanna!
And you crunch on, over the crushed leaves,
Following the crowd at a distance.
What will you see as you draw close?
What will your part be in the crowd
That welcomes
The Messiah on a donkey
On this day?
Hosanna to the King of kings!