Not the time of year for the prudish to be venturing beyond a front door.  Kestrels mating high in a leafless, thorny locust just this side of a Christian Church.  Last year they did the same thing on Easter morning.

    Chocolate, feathers and eggs. Perhaps I was elsewhere when she arrived, believed she belonged to the delirium of others.  Or perhaps the memory has addled.  But I can't say that I recall the Easter Rabbit from other places I have lived.   

    When I worked in the Negev, Passover was the big one.  Alcohol was secured several days before and occasionally checked for spoilage.  Chickens purchased.  Ice acquired.  A tent erected.  Grilling pits dug.  Scrap wood amassed.  Despite the language barrier, I guessed the god to be worshipped was one Moses might have disapproved of.    

    The sequence of events remains bleary and for that I blame an inexpensive gin made from banana.  I do remember the crew called this gin, 'Waragi'.  They beat a fist against the chest in the ape-man way to demonstrate its potency. 

   I woke, probably several days later, in the sun to find more sensible men snoring in the shade of the tent.  We appeared to have consumed a great many chickens.  And I will always remember the word 'Waragi', because it was the word Okanya and I would use for drunkenness.     

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