After moving into a rectory built in 1851 in Norfolk, England, Bill Bryson wrote At Home, an exploration of every aspect of English life in the nineteenth century. Absorbing his 536-page book two chapters at a time, I began to imagine what life might have been like for the rectory’s first occupant.
Memories of an English Rector
Two hundred years ago
— between cups of tea and
pontificating across my parish —
I fluttered my quill plucked from some local goose
and made plodding time fly with poetry
I revealed what the trees told me
when the earth was still and their branches bare
I shared where the weather vane pointed me
when silhouetted against a sunrise
I confessed my love for the brides who
glowed like angels coming toward me
I poured out my disbelief
born of watching my children play
that a father could punish for eternity
All my poems except the latter
my wife bound in cloth journals
and offered them to anyone who called
The latter no one saw
for I hid it behind a loose brick of the church
where it yellows still if it hasn’t crumbled to dust
in a believer’s hand
You may wonder where this individual is who speaks to us now about a life long ago. I’ll let you decide.
So glad you finally posted it! Such a wonderful piece!
Thank you for all your input on it, especially advising me on the photo composition.
How creative, Sally. You have a gift for this!
Thank you, Imo Jeane. Your comment means a lot to me.
I enjoy reading your writing. Please keep it up!
So nice to hear from you! Your encouragement is greatly appreciated.
I love your words.
Sally, You have such a wonderful imagination. I wish you would try a fictional novel. I really enjoy your
“stuff.”
Fun piece. Very imaginative. I liked it!