What about Church?

Jack has pushed the half empty bottle of wine as far down the table as he can reach. And then a finger push more.

Reaching it now will need a superhuman stretch on his part.

Besides, he has lines to learn.

Grant them removed.

So far so good.

He’s trying to concentrate – grant that this your noise­ – should there be a linking and in there?

He searches in his pocket for the print out of the text.

Yes.

He begins again.

Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise has chid..

Chid?

That can’t be right.

He reaches into his pocket once more, having already refolded the printout and replaced it.

God this is complicated!

Maybe he should have pushed the bottle away earlier? Further?

Chid is right. Though, to be fair, it’s chid down. 

Makes much more sense.

Hath – it should be hath, obviously – chid down all the majesty of England.

Jack was in rehearsal earlier today - nothing to do with this text battling with a bottle of wine just out of arm’s reach.

One of the actors turned to another and asked – “are you going to act or just read your lines?”

It seemed harsh.

It was a rehearsal after all.

Show day is still a month away.

Imagine that you see the wretched strangers, their babies on their backs, and their poor luggage. Plodding ….

The rehearsal is plodding.

There hasn’t been a run yet.

Everyone’s script seems to be different.

The director keeps saying – “we WILL look at that.”

Extra rehearsal has been announced, Sunday mornings.

What about church?

 

 

Sentinels of the under-observed

An old man is sitting under the tree, outside the café.

When he first sat down, he considered watching the people going in and out, to and from the market.

But instead he is looking up into the branches.

Where a leaf is falling.

It is autumn.

More leaves fall, and he watches them spin and twist. Dancing in the air, tumbling earth-ways. 

Some make him think of the last time he saw snowflakes.

How so long ago was that?

A young boy is standing under the same tree.

He is playing with his friend on the benches and tables that the café built for anyone that wanted to sit.

Or climb.

He stops in mid-climb, and looks at the man who is eating something bright orange. A persimmon.

The boy is young enough never to have seen one before.

It is only his second or third autumn.

But he notices that the man is not looking at the fruit, but looking up where he knows the sky resides.

He looks up too.

His friend stops behind him, and looks up as well.

They see the leaves.

They see the falling.

They have no memory of snow yet, this will be only their third winter and the previous two were mild.

Yet, they love those leaves.

And watch.

Three people watching.

One old enough to know how important and beautiful this moment is.

The two others, learning this.

They are motionless. 

Silent statues at odds with the to-and-fro of market day.

Sentinels of the under-observed