By Buffy Calvert

One fall Sunday, I stepped out of my house into blustery, invigorating air whipped by a swirling wind. Fool that I was, I didn’t check my Gazette calendar. Just bounced down the street, over the Church lawn, around Ethel Edwards’ barn, and past Jim Andrews’ to Main Street. At Hogan’s the patient clerk, stacking customers’ breakfast bagels and ringing them up, shook her head at me. “No Times yet. They’re not made up.” She pointed to the clock which read 8:00.

Ouch! Daylight Savings! Fall back. An extra hour for Reformation Sunday. Sort of a secular donation to our celebration. (This year, in an ecumenical spirit, they’re giving it to All Saints’ Day.)

I trudged back home, taking the short cut again.

Less than an hour later the wind snapped a majestic Norway spruce off three feet from the ground; dropped it right across the narrow path I took. Good thing I got out early. Could’ve felled me!

A close examination revealed a concave seam along the trunk. Down came the whole circle of a dozen spruce under the woodsman’s saw. Dick Liddle converted the logs to lumber. The church planted rhododendrons among the stumps. Still, I feel disoriented as I take my short cut. Though, you will without doubt tell me, safer. ~

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