Today is Palm Sunday by the Orthodox calendar, except here it's called Pussy Willow Sunday because we don't have palm trees. People buy newly budded pussy willow branches and have them blessed by their priests and put them in their homes. I think it's so neat how the tradition of greeting Jesus with palm fronds gets translated into familiar plants so that we can feel that story on our skin. I went to the wooden chapel down the street this morning, and it was crammed full of people. I mean, I couldn't move at all, not even to cross myself, but somehow more and more people kept squeezing in. The woman next to me had on a soft, fuzzy hat which kept brushing against my face. People passed candles to the front to be lit. Once, the crowd parted to let out a lady who felt faint. I could barely hear what the priest was saying, and it reminded me of when the crowds came to hear Jesus, and he had to teach them from a boat while they stood on the shore because there were so many that they would have crushed him. I wonder if it was hard to hear his voice over the sound of the waves, and whether anyone got their feet wet because of people in the back pushing forward to hear. I wish I could have taken a photo of everyone's backs this morning, the pussy willow branches they held sticking out everywhere, red or brown or green bark with their furry silver buds, casting soft shadows on each other's coats.
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