"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."
T. S. Eliot

It has been a gloomy morning, and promise to be a gloomy day; heavy with mist, damp, and grey. I am collecting my thoughts and trying to avoid taking on the colour of the day. In the second half of Lent I have been trying to frame my day with prayer - this week has been difficult. Not evening prayer, which we do together, but my solitary morning prayer, which I forget more often than not until afternoon has made it all-together out of place. Today I remembered. So I raised my voice from the earth, from the very gates of the netherworld, my cry. They are preparing us for the Passion; it is as dark as the grey morning. But the hope of God is behind it, and I found myself relishing the day.