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Crawl on.
Two weeks ago at the market, I saw small, decorative gourds. I knew they were a sign and a portent, and I accepted what'd be coming, hoping it'd take a while.
This last Friday, I saw pumpkins. There's no arguing with pumpkins. The Equinox is all well and good, and it's pumpkins that signify autumn for me.
What's more, Saturday was sweatshirt weather, and that hasn't much let up since. I even wore a coat to services.
It was pretty wonderful, how it happened: a single block was cordoned off from road traffic, chairs were set out, a sound system was set up, and services were had. Short, compared to past years, just a couple of hours and change. Quiet, compared to past years, with very little singing from the congregation and no call-and-response to speak of. A strange echo, as I read through the prayers and heard them sung and let the past times I've had these prayers sung to me come up through the years and the sounds of what I knew I ought to be hearing both muffled and vivid in my ears, like a song from another room. What I knew I ought to be singing.
We were within hearing distance of a local church that rang its bell on the hour, every hour. During the second day's reading and reflection, the timing was just right that when the speaker mentioned angels, the bells started ringing.
No, really.
Also of the "no, really" category was in census work today. Trying to find a proxy for one apartment, I started with the other units in the building, hoping one of them might have someone who knew something. I rang a doorbell, someone called out she was coming, and a moment later she answered the door - in a bathrobe, hair wet, wide-eyed and bewildered.
Because she'd just gotten out of the shower when I rang the doorbell.
I thanked her for letting me live a cartoon punchline and told her she now had a great story to tell at parties. You know, when we have parties again.
This last Friday, I saw pumpkins. There's no arguing with pumpkins. The Equinox is all well and good, and it's pumpkins that signify autumn for me.
What's more, Saturday was sweatshirt weather, and that hasn't much let up since. I even wore a coat to services.
It was pretty wonderful, how it happened: a single block was cordoned off from road traffic, chairs were set out, a sound system was set up, and services were had. Short, compared to past years, just a couple of hours and change. Quiet, compared to past years, with very little singing from the congregation and no call-and-response to speak of. A strange echo, as I read through the prayers and heard them sung and let the past times I've had these prayers sung to me come up through the years and the sounds of what I knew I ought to be hearing both muffled and vivid in my ears, like a song from another room. What I knew I ought to be singing.
We were within hearing distance of a local church that rang its bell on the hour, every hour. During the second day's reading and reflection, the timing was just right that when the speaker mentioned angels, the bells started ringing.
No, really.
Also of the "no, really" category was in census work today. Trying to find a proxy for one apartment, I started with the other units in the building, hoping one of them might have someone who knew something. I rang a doorbell, someone called out she was coming, and a moment later she answered the door - in a bathrobe, hair wet, wide-eyed and bewildered.
Because she'd just gotten out of the shower when I rang the doorbell.
I thanked her for letting me live a cartoon punchline and told her she now had a great story to tell at parties. You know, when we have parties again.