A draft blows through the bad frame of the windowpane. I can hear bare branches clacking in the January wind in the night outside. I hope someone brought that dog inside. It’s almost 11:00 PM. All the monks are tucked away in their beds except maybe for the abbott. He stays up late and works on his mosaics. I try not to disturb him. It’s a different kind of sacred time for him. After a long day of duties, it’s now time for art.
Reading this made me feel, strangely, like I was praying the words of some calming, peaceful interior prayer. I don't pray much these days, so that was striking. You really captured something here. Well done.
Beautiful, moodful writing, thanks for sharing!
Beautiful style
Reading this made me feel, strangely, like I was praying the words of some calming, peaceful interior prayer. I don't pray much these days, so that was striking. You really captured something here. Well done.