OO LA

We sat in a circle on the stone floor while the young nun talked to us about the fruits of the spirit and the evils which caused the fruits to decay. She had a sweet little mouth and turned up nose. Her habit weighed more than she did, I'm sure. Someone said her real name was Lizette and she had been hidden by Jews in a long trek from France to Jerusalem. That was a switch. It didn't seem a likely story to me but, on the other hand, here she was in the Holy Land and she did have an extensive knowledge of the Torah. When she read from the New Testament the words became branded on my heart as the way to write--simple, exquisite, humble. She mixed in  Yeats and Keats as though they were part of her sacred texts.  Her attitude was plucky personified. She tossed envy, hatred, grumpiness, into an invisible bin with flicks of her bird hands. Often, her remarks were followed by, "Oo la" as though the nutty world was something to marvel at. Who would want to be competitive, anxious, clawing to the top of a corporate mountain?? Oo la. Such crazies! I loved her French accent and her certainty. I wondered if she really thought her students would escape the lure of worldly temptations. I'd like to think she rests in peace now in a convent garden full of the lilies of the field she liked so much. I would wish her to know that the circle had flawed admirers but I bet many of us will catch ourselves once in a while, exclaiming, "Oo la" feeling a little burden lifted, hearing the sound of sparrows. 

Sister, Sister, more!

Tell of banshees, dancing goats,
sailing galaxies.

Corrupt governments? 
Famine? War? Catastrophe?
"Press on!" Sister smiles.

Recollection's strange.
Not one child's face can I see.
Only oo-la's ring. 

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