Weather, Unseasonable

Summer weather is upon us, inexplicably, here in mid-March. (Well, that's not entirely fair: a goodly number of scientists have a reasonable explanation for why the climate appears to be changing.) The heat provokes both passionate intensity — mostly in the worst sorts — and an idle listlessness in the rest of us. It is perhaps the worst sort of weather for Lent, for he who loves not Lent, as Herbert reminds us, "loves not Temperance, or Authoritie, / But is compos'd of passion." Such heat encourages a sanguine humour in even the sanest fellow.

The past few days I assisted in the tuning of the (ludicrously oversized) organ at St. Luke's. While the organ-tuner was up in the chamber doing the actual work, I sat at the console, doing what is called "holding keys" — that is, playing a single note until told to play the next note. It is another one of those jobs, like organ calcant, that requires very little thought but constant attention. To call it torture would be hyperbole, but it was not pleasant, being stuck inside for the better part of two days while outside spring had arrived. It brought back memories of grade school — do you remember the feeling? — of being imprisoned in a poorly ventilated space doing nothing particularly rewarding. (I do not miss grade school.) At least, now, the organ is mostly in tune, barring any violent changes in weather. Holy Week will quickly be upon us, and I have, shall we say, plans.