The Sunday editorial meeting has certain characteristics common to each week: some excesses of exuberance that follow the conclusion of a full week of laying about the fire ring, thinking creative thoughts. The accumulated wreckage of shipping containers, coffee grounds, assorted cans, trash and soggy papers went to the Dumpster, which was thankfully done smoldering in the cheery bright light. The kitchen had been cleaned without complaint. With syncopated motion mimicking old days of coordinated flight, Loma and Rocket hauled two full loads out over the front steps and down to the decorative path to the gravel drive. Splash assisted by moaning behind the green container to provide the precision targeting for the evolution.

And then it was back to sitting around the fire pit by the Loading Dock. DeMille looked around the circle, and when he was confident he had counted all the way to five principals, two business management seniors, three Interns and himself, commenced the Sunday meeting.

“OK, Ladies and Gentleman. We have seen the giant sequoias with their trunks wrapped in foil, so we don’t need to cover the disaster of the California fires. We can move on to something that honors the glory of Nature’s change from rich summer to the brisk challenge of fall on the holy day of the week.”

Loa stirred, shaking a pack of Marlboros to extract a new one. “I think the pictures made the trees look like the burritos they sell at the Hispanx food trucks on the way into town.”

“If they were 243 feet long like the trees. But instead we could start with a mention that life is good, our grove of trees around the south pasture are just starting to shed leaves. And the world is good.”

Rocket snorted. “Well, the sun is up and the sky is blue. There are some other issues.” He shook his gray hair, and I remembered when it had color and a jaunty curl over his right eye. Now some of it stood straight up.

“Yeah, I got into a religious discussion at Belmont Farms Weekend service yesterday afternoon,” said Loma. “It was interesting. Mostly because there was no discussion. You would think we were shouting from downtown to some oaf out in the pasture.”

“I hope the service was devotional, instead of just the usual Saturday Mega Happy Hour. Splash has that covered for us,” DeMille said with authority. “Now the usual. We need to determine how to get folks over to Mitchell’s to attend services this morning. We can get six in the truck-bed and three on the bench seat in the cab, so that limits religious observation to nine. Any others with spiritual needs we need to take care of?”

“Anyone still asleep can stay that way. Any idea what the Pastor is supposed to talk about? I could use a good homily to get organized for the week,” said Rocket. “It will be the first Fall service next week, so it’s worth remembering the end of this astonishing summer. And get ready for what’s next.”

“It’s like the pandemic. This summer seemed to last for 19 months!”

“Only two weeks to stop the spread!” rang Splash’s voice from the greenery.

“And in the meantime, we stopped a lot of other stuff we used to think was important.” DeMille was appropriately solemn in his delivery. Then he smiled.

“Easy. It is Sunday. We can talk about all that other nonsense on Monday when it is socially acceptable to feel surly. Not on a day as nice as this.”

Loma leaned back in the Adirondack chair where he has a clear view of sky and seasons. “Change can be good,” he said. “And it is something different to look at.”

There was unity in the circle, a few nods, and a rare feeling of tranquility under a gentle breeze. It stirred the still green leaves, dropping just a few of them in preparation for one of the Four Big annual changes. “We can talk about all that other stuff after lunch.”

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com