.

Post 1447. Saturday February 11

The Sunday Whirl and Sunday’s Whirligig.

It was Friday night at The Crossroad Inn. I sat on a bar stool,  my foot tapping to the pounding beat. My beer quivered, battered by the ferocious volume. The melody dived and soared, twisted and tumbled. The unrelenting rhythm resounded from the rafters. Nothing unusual there!

It was Saturday morning outside The Crossroad Inn. A croaky voice sang a song. There, leaning against the wall was a frail fellow, wrapped in ragged burlap and struggling to remain upright. His grained face was half hidden by a tangle of unkempt grey hair. He plucked a battered ukelele. It only had one string. There were a few coins in a tin at his feet but hardly enough to feed him. ‘No home’ said the words on the torn scrap of cardboard.

It was Sunday morning at the Holy Cross church. I sat with the sparse congregation, bathed in the holiness of the sacred building. A statue stared down at me, its hands stretched toward me offering succour; forgiveness. I took bread and drank wine. I felt blessed.

It was Monday morning and as I buttered my toast my thoughts returned to that frail fellow. It was wrong. Everything that weekend suddenly seemed wrong. I'd reached a crossroad and I knew I should head in a new direction. Can one person put things right?  Maybe not but I’m going to have a jolly good try!

The given words at The Sunday Whirl are song, rhythms, melody, unusual, face, half, rag, upright, stool, root and resound.

At Sunday's Whirligig we have burlap, butter, bread, gutted, grey, grained, feed, ferocity, forgiven, holiness, home and hidden.

I used twenty-two of the twenty-four provided. 


.