here was a time when the passage of hours, days, and seasons was felt by all the world. Businesses shuttered their windows as the slitted eye of the sun winked shut on the red horizon. Whole cities would die each Sunday and be reborn on Monday, as Churches left unused and unthought of six days a week paid obligatory host to obligatory churchgoers. Fruits—meats—whole diets would follow the season. Asparagus would come in May, carrots in June, beans and raspberries in July; then the whole earth erupted with foodstuffs in August: there were markets and money changed hands. There were fairs in the fall, and dances: the music for it was a different kind of awful, a simpler kind of awful. Men and women met, and they knew each other; the next summer’s crops were planted. The world was not in fibrillation then. Its heartbeat around the sun echoed in God-fearing hearts like an unknowable drum.