Für eine Vorlesung musste ich einen kurzen Blogeintrag über das 19. Jahrhundert in England verfassen, wobei das Thema und die Art des Texts frei wählbar war. Dies hier ist das Ergebnis:
A cold wind blows across the streets of London this night, whirling around heaps of leaves fallen from the autumn-shaken trees planted along the pavement. The yellow-brown foliage casts a dancing shadow created by the soft glow of the newly installed gas lights, which illuminate bridges and streets alike.
Just a few years ago I would never have dreamed of walking around alone at this time of night. Even now I don’t feel good about it, remembering the words of the church that condemns this kind of invention as unnatural and ungodly.
“Who are we to disturb the natural order of day and night given to us by the Lord?” preaches Father Anthony regularly from the pulpit. I must confess, I really don’t know. I don’t know who we are but curious creatures who seek to invent all kind of things god didn’t bother to give us from the start. It well may be that we’re not supposed to make all these new inventions, all these life-changing novelties that seem to dictate us since they have entered our lives.
But I enjoy all these new opportunities of entertainment in the evening. The theatre is even more amusing in the dark because on the way home the imagination runs wild from all we cannot see. Pitch-black nights – once responsible for many deaths and robberies – have lost their dread since now beacons of light lead you home safely.
I look up to the lightly clouded sky. Even on a clear night all that’s left to see is the moon and I begin to wonder whether the illumination of the earth has stripped the heavens of all their stars.
Maybe God will punish us, as Father Anthony believes, for the audacity of trusting more in our ability to move forward than to trust in the great plan of things. As for me, I put these thoughts aside and observe the dancing leaves in the wind until Mother Nature decides that even for her it’s time to rest for the night.