Metamorphosism

Thanksgiving

There was a special harvest mass at church in our village last Sunday. Gamma and her classmates all brought wicker baskets with vegetables, nuts, fruit and flowers. The priest blessed them and I suppose us as well.

The church has an old-fashioned cross-shaped floorplan. When mass was over, they opened the exits at either side. The one on the right led to the cemetery. The one on the left led to a sort of square where tables had been set up and decked with wine and open-faced sandwiches spread with Grammelschmalz, which as I understand it is the lard and crunchy bits left over after you cook a roast. It tastes damn good.

We went out that door.