88. Rhythm

I got up early the next morning morning and walked past trees still wet with dew to the cabin for Shabbat morning services, where I chose a seat further up front. Not since I was twelve had I been to one of these from start to finish. There were only a few of us at first, and the prayers started out quietly, just a little more than whispering. We advanced from one prayer to the next in a smooth relay, and after awhile the words took on a rhythm like brisk walking. More people wandered in through the open walls and across the wooden floor, now bleached white from the morning sun. I recognized them from last night and smiled, and the small group of us moved the folding chairs closer together.