I passed a monk on the sidewalk who was staring into space; gazing, perhaps, into that numinous infinity only the called can see; or maybe, like Saint Francis, scanning the skies for the preached-to bird bringing lunch from a distant restaurant open for pick-up only. But could he possibly be some Seventh Seal medieval revenant from my imagination, conjured into being by subconscious concerns during this time of plague and pestilence? No, he'd probably just been visiting the nursing home nearby.
Of course, on those rare occasions I do come across a monk, especially a jovial Friar Tuck type, I can't help profanely hoping they reside in a monastery where beer and cheese is made. No doubt there is a particular circle of Dantean Hell waiting for me, forming a Venn diagram with the circles containing gluttons and drunkards and other types of facetious wastrels. Purgatory, meanwhile, would be a monk offering beer and cheese tastings who had taken a vow of silence and was consequently was unable to let me know about his wares. Paradise, a Trappist beer and cheese weekly subscription service with free delivery. by Beatrice Express.
At any rate, it is an unusual experience to encounter a monk strolling around my neighborhood, whether laden with food and drink or not. Although interestingly enough, I had also seen a man dressed in a suit of armor the week before. Judging by his hipster's handlebar mustache, he was actually a refugee from a socially distanced Dungeons and Dragons game. Nevertheless, for all intents and purposes, the image of a perfect, gentle knight was clanking his way down the city streets.
I realize we are a long way past April showers, but, taking these monk and knight sightings into consideration, I do wonder if I will meet every character from The Canterbury Tales by the end of June. There is a definitely a candidate for the Wife of Bath who fails to pick-up after her little pekinese dog when she takes it for a walk. In fact, there are at least three or four Wives locally, several swanky Squires, and far too many cantankerous Reeves. Obviously there are numerous Physicians about at the moment, too, but according to their tales I don't think they're making as much money from the current plague as Chaucer's physician did from his plague.
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