sweet, ordinary earth

Yes, I know, a bit of an odd way to pass a tough hour before iftar, but J.B.'s programme on parish churches in East Anglia has its moments. Old stone, leaf, dream of star; the green shade of late summer afternoons a kind of slowness, displacement, fierce resistance to serial time; the silent interiors, wood gently ageing; the words spoken, the same sound and inflection century after century; openness that was fated to give way to an indifferent gaze; history in stone and wood and glass, emptying out before our eyes, the God of absences, beyond words and theology.


~~~


there are moments when you've stopped in your tracks, grateful for something you can't name; yes, this is it, the small glimpse of understanding, of contentment: look out and look back; taste and see; no mystical flight, no awe, a very down-to-earth feeling that finitude, somehow, is not a misfortune, a sense that the clothes fit, that there is a type of ease or another life in the shade of the great trees below sweltering sun. Ubo, himself growing old, says to me: the reality of life slips into shadow, as it always has and always will; soon the shadow itself will be but a memory. Then he turns to me, mischievously: "Wah! I've become a poet in my old age." And this line, from the morning's gleaning: whatever remains green is more deeply, richly green than it was before.

~~~


Now, it has been suggested by one of my more cynical (and fairer) readers-though the scallywag shall go unnamed-that this mild epiphany of mine must have come to me whilst scoffing down one of my beloved cinnamon rolls. Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it? I shall remain silent on the matter. A love that speaketh not its name!

Recently discovered a spiced teacake (in California that might be mistaken for a drug-filled after-tea indulgence, but no). A bit squidgy and chewy, but given a medieval twist, you think, with its currants and spices (cinnamon, clove,...). But hang on, those spices weren't around then, were they? Allspice, one of the great treasures of the world-even if it did lead, eventually, to colonialism. 


So, what's the difference between a Chelsea bun, a hot-cross bun, and a teacake? Forget the Ph.D...this is a real research question, one that merits some empirical testing...