Eleanor Tatum

Just Listening

There’s a church behind my home. Do not start judging. I can’t either. I’ve never been inside and I’ve seen the front only once. It appears Christian because it has a steeple and when “Googled”, it reads that it is. I rarely see anyone walking outside, but then I am its backyard or it’s in mine.

Here’s the interesting part:

At 9a, 12p, 3p, and 6pm it correctly announces the hour in a subtle “Westminsterly” manner.

Wait! Here’s the better part:

It plays a hymn, only one verse, but still I find myself addicted. I stop and listen. It makes me wait a bit then I am flooded with memories: my childhood New England churches, my father’s voice, and my mother’s humming. The words often come to me, but not always. Sometimes I try to pick out the notes on my piano, whose lower F is devastatingly ill.

Again, wait! Here’s the Best Part:

It makes me smile.

Enough!