The Choir Loft   I always loved the bird’s-eye view, the choir loft — looming high above the pews, the altar, the pulpit, the candles, the priest — higher even than the angels, pure and faultless, flanking Jesus expired on the cross. Up there the mission was music. I sat in back, all but drunk on the privilege, lost in daydreams much of the time, but so what? When the choir sang, I heard the voice of God, and if God sang in Latin, so what? Perched judiciously above Heaven and Hell a boy gains perspective, and if I nodded off at times, I still saw the whole church — over the decades this has served me well.     © Michael Fleming Marlboro, Vermont October 2022