All that is seen and unseen.

I miss the village. At my sentimental weakest, I allowed myself to be coaxed to a sermon at the Unitarian on Ferry where I could at least hear the bustle of Elmwood, smell the rotting dog shit on the sidewalks outside. It was strange and unfinished. We kicked nonexistent kneelers, looked for invisible icons on empty podiums, stumbled over every secular verse. It was Mass without amazement, a gathering for an irreligious elite that could never shake the feeling that they needed to be somewhere on a Sunday morning. But we got a good turkey sandwich from Globe out of it.

And, in homage to our missing Madonna, I give you Regina. Queen of the Ladybugs.