But it was not April, Subject A reminded himself as he stepped from his house to greet the new world.
The world that waited for him was not filled with showers sweet, but instead gripped him with temperatures that still had some waking up to do.
Subject A looked at his calendar and was shocked to see that the day he had intended for the start of his pilgrimage was non other than the very first day of February. Persephone was still carousing in the underworld with that dreadful suitor, Hades. It would be a number of months yet before anyone summoned up the spirits to go on pilgrimages.
Subject A sighed deeply. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought, as I have not even gone so far as to procure any means of transport. Ass, he thought. Ass, donkey, or horse?
He saw himself riding a steady steed. He saw himself at the head of the pilgrims, leading the way to salvation, or Canterbury, or York which was closer. He saw the peasants gathered along the roads and lanes of their villages waving and offering blessings as their troop trooped past. It would be like the Tour De France or a 10k. And wouldn’t that be fun?
But today was the first day of February and February was a cold month that was set to get colder.
Pilgrimages are all well and good when you live in the Mediterranean countries, he thought. they should try doing it here with al the ice and fog around. they would soon lose their religious fervour.
And that got him to thinking:
If Christ or Mohammed had been born in the north, would they have been as successful? Or would they have had bright, but brief success like ABBA?