I cycled to worship ten miles on country roads, in brilliant sunshine, and stopped a couple of times to photograph wild flowers. A tiny splash of colour seen for an instant delights me, but they repay greater attention.
At the parish church, families leave their cars to worship. “Good morning!” said a woman as I pedalled past. “Happy Easter!” I replied. “Oh, well done,” she said, the slight hint of sarcasm not displeasing me. I had thought of saying “Christ is risen!” but forebore.