November sky

The more I think about it, the more the visit I had yesterday feels like a visitation.

When I turned round with an armful of ivy, I almost shrieked because I had neither seen nor heard the elderly gentleman approaching from the gate. I was busy with my not particularly enjoyable but nevertheless extremely satisfying activity of pulling the ivy down from the wall of my house.

He looked at me expectantly and I was convinced that he had appeared from nowhere. It is a good few metres’ walk on noisy gravel from the entrance of my drive to where I was working. There is no way that I could not have heard him unless, of course, I should discuss my ears with my GP. The elderly gentleman did not immediately introduce himself but started chatting to me about the ivy. No, I replied, it is not the variety that turns red in the autumn, it is a shame but you have to accept what you have. The humbleness of my horticultural talk seemed to please him.

His appearance gave him away immediately. His grey suit, white shirt and indistinct tie cheap but clean, neat and almost too carefully pressed. His shoes polished. A small, black leather briefcase across his shoulder. I cannot recall his face but I know that his eyes were impassionate. There could be no doubt, he was a Jehova’s witness. And he was short. For some inexplicable reason, Jehova’s witnesses are always short.

I did not want to waste his time and told him straight away that I was not a likely candidate for his church. He did say “what a shame” but there was no disapproval in his eyes, no disappointment, perhaps just a hint of sadness. Nevertheless, we had a pleasantly meaningless chat about the ivy and I showed him the perfect and now, in the autumn, disused bird’s nest that I had found in a section, which I always leave untouched for precisely this reason.

November sky - Photograph by Wolf Kettler

We speculated on what kind of bird would have built it. There was one egg left in the nest. It was a green-ish colour, slightly speckled and perfectly preserved except for one little hole in the top and it was empty. Did something raid the nest and suck the egg empty? What happened to the other eggs, which would have been laid? The elderly gentleman thought that it could be a robin’s nest, I tended towards a blue tit and the truth is probably something completely different.

After our paths had run alongside for a few moments, we said our good-byes, he walked towards the gate, I swear I only blinked once and he had disappeared into the thin air from which he had materialised a few minutes earlier.

I have to explain that the weather forecast had been for a dry day, and a dry day it was. Whilst I was still contemplating whether I had had a visit or a visitation, a cloud appeared overhead and rained on me as if to say “Hey there, it’s me, God and yes, I do exist. Get it?” Seconds later, the sky cleared and the sun winked at me.

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