I remember Easter Sunday 1945 in Austria.
We were refugees housed in a little village that only
had a wayside chapel. My mother and grandmother and aunt and I walked
to a nearby town to attend Easter services.
On the way we passed bomb craters and other signs
of war. The Russians were coming closer.
The early morning air was chilly but I saw the morning star for
the first time.
The church was still in one piece and everything looked so beautiful
Throughout Lent there were daily bombings.
I do not remember that there was an air raid that day.
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