Good Friday Boots
Good Fridays showed themselves for many years, when I was a child, dressed for the occasion: gray and mournful, not in a full, spring-promising rain but in a sad gray drizzle, cold, and mirroring our hearts as we thought of Christ’s passing, His life seeping away, for each of us as we were told, and He enduring it, the son of God.
It’s been many years since I have thought on that. One year it was unaccountably and gloriously sunny and we went out to play. Another year, the year I heard about Tiger Cages in Vietnam, I thought that as torture victims went, the brother of James got off lightly. But echoes sprang back upon me unexpectedly today as I walked the rows and columns of the empty soldiers’ boots at the Civic Center Plaza. Eyes Wide Open, a traveling education project of the American Friends Service Committee, was here for Easter weekend.
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