Frail (September)

September appears robust enough, dealing with any eventuality, its frail role in eternity rarely mentioned. The robust world continues, regardless of its frail sources of life, air, earth and water. War and such rumours block the view, unimaginable, cruel, and final. What is our frailty, then? Dying, the old woman chastises nurses: “Don’t call me frail!” Those around her move robustly, fixing beds and medicines. At the funeral our strength is taken up with frail: frail liturgies of committal, frail eulogies of shared lifetimes’ robustness. Everyone is so well-dressed. The church is relatively old. Tapers burn down their frail wax.