Palm Sunday Rivulet of Consciousness
At mass We gather in scattered groups; the place isn’t far from our small church. A nice blue sky. Children carry in their hands the traditional braids made of palm fronds. Every adult holds a bunch of olive branches. I notice -again- a stark contrast with my old parish in Northern Italy: here in the South it seems they love large quantities of stuff. Each of the most resourceful parishioners gathered enough branches to supply the whole congregation back in the North. Odd: people here use to wish a happy Palm Sunday. Never heard of that. After mass we’ll exchange a olive branch with our friends and acquaintances: a nice, simple…