From A Holler To Here
I can remember the walk to the train station. Fields of corn rustling and creaking, alive with chirping and buzzing, the night/day interface soft, heavy, with a hint of damp. Air like a thick warm quilt, fever-soaked, somewhere between comforting and suffocating. Near the borough line a sign shot full of holes announced The Churches Of Norgood Welcome You and there was somewhere for everyone if you were a Protestant. I always assumed that the Catholics let the nuns do the recruiting, although the various phrases associated with the convents – Adoration Of the Blood Of Christ,
Perpetual Sorrow, Our Lady Of the Snows – always brought to mind the Creature Double Feature on Saturday afternoons. Maybe one day I will visit a nunnery, ring the bell and ask if I might have a look around.
They will ask me where I’m from, and I will be tempted to say
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