It was one of those almost insignificant moments - those that occur all the time out here in our fragile community. I was driving home early evening. It was dark, and raining. I was in no hurry as I passed along Main Street, Bridgehampton. Yet I stood on my brakes as a man crossed the road some thirty feet in front of me. He was dressed in black. And as he slowly walked to the safety of the sidewalk outside of Bobby Van's restaurant I silently cursed the fact (and it is a cultural fact) that city people wear black when there is no funeral. And then, in my headlight, I caught a flash of white around his neck-line.
Damn it all. He was a priest!