Races
BerNID remember me this;
Walking down Essex in Witch City, I was spotted by two hounds. They pulled at their tightly at their leads, while their owners chatted and did not notice the renewed fervor of the beasts they trailed.
My dilemma; diagonal traversal of street to port of call without being bitten. I could feel their eyes on me, keeping pace with my increased stride and greedy for a piece of my calf. I was their motivational rabbit and they my greyhounds.
At work, in a mechanical buzz saturated fug, a round of applause broke out. First from two women that approached me from behind, and then picked up throughout the rest of the room. I had fixed the bug. It was ridiculous, but felt good and I smiled.
The Wednesday-Lenten-Eve-Service was attended by five people. Weather and hump day lull had kept people away. The weeks lenten discipline, represented by black pebbles now left on the rails of their parishioners pews, was silence. We sat for fifteen minutes without a word. The pews rocked in the wind, and I thought of and prayed for the people I love and those in hardship that came to mind. I prayed for my knee, and my resilience to evil. And I thought of the Church building as a teether to the steeple (NECN reported 78 mph winds on Nantucket). I thought of the soft creaking in the sanctuary. The a harp sounded from a cellphone marking the end of the fifteenth minute, and I left in silence.
