In which the bell tolls

It actually does. Not for me, I assume. It’s somewhere up the block, and it’s probably one of those knife-sharpening people, rare these days but still to be found on occasion here in Little Portugal.

Sunday morning, cloudy. Wasps in the rose briars and butterflies in the tall grass. Neighbours strolling to the laundromat. Silence in my part of town.

My friends, it is a good day to write.

2 thoughts on “In which the bell tolls

  1. We have a knife-sharpening guy every once in a while out here in the wilds of North York, too, so I don't think it's a tradition that's completely dead.

  2. I'm glad. It's one of those things that reminds me I live in a fleshly community of people who don't necessarily know each other or even share a language, but share common household needs.

    Also, I'm glad because I have no idea how knives get sharpened without these guys!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *