"Родительские поучения могут и не спасти от гибели вашу пуританскую совесть; но если вы выпрямитесь на стуле, не касаясь спинки, и сорок раз повторите слова «призмы, пилигримы», сатана отыдет от вас.."
Its Tuesday night and a rainy one, an endless late November downpour I so welcome, finally free to just be... My mind wonders as my feet get wet. I juggle Nika, Nika's rag doll, an umbrella and a stuffed purse as I get us in the door. Finally. I'm in a dimly lit church, all the way in the back. The choir practice picks up.. Five little angels by the altar, mine -- the littlest. Their voices echo high above me in this vast space and instantly I'm at peace, calmed by the subtle scent of cedar and wax and honey.. The church is airy and by most standards austear. Lone crucifix in a burst of light against a plane brick wall -- sharp contrast of black and flesh, reminiscent of a painting I once saw. The rest is all wood and stone and clay, monochromatic and heavy-textured -- yet somehow so light, ethereal, almost translucent..like a vision of a tall ship, with its creaky floors and flickering lights, as it floats in a storm to a tune of Tchaikovsky. I smile and wave to Nika and pull out an old lost-and-found fave -- O'Henry's short stories. And for the rest of the hour I melt..Blessed is a perfect moment when you happen to be in a right place at the right time with the right book. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment