Sunday, October 26, 2008
The Scent of Church Bells
The rain was horizontal this morning as Felicia and I took our constitutional. Thanks to the clocks going back we were much earlier than usual and caught the call to prayer. Much as I like the Islamic version (it reminds demons and angels alike of our roots, since they are, in effect, the same religion) the peal of bells drifting across a damp forest is an endearing memory.*
The scent of decomposition was strong in the woods, though fortunately from damp leaves and fungi rather than corpses. Even a demon can tire of wading through corpses and we can definitely have enough of answering questions for the police. The river was in full flow, too, though not as high as it will be in winter.
As we left the woods for the bleak sparseness of the park we caught glimpses of people using it as a short-cut to St. Pity’s. Mrs. Carruthers looked spectacular in her fur coat and face powder, the archetype for all middle-aged church-goers.
Alas, thanks to the clocks going back, we were too early for the café.
*Okay, I admit that a better one is the pealing of the bells across a cricket pitch on a dry, sunny afternoon but I can’t convey that on a wet October, can I?