Sunday once more.

The story of our travels begins here.

 Sunday once more. 

The city cathedral isn’t at all grand, only baroque.

     We went to the early morning mass and stood at the back. I didn’t understand a word. But I could follow the order of things.

     A bell sounded when God arrived, so he could not slip into the elements unnoticed. Rather the large wafer blossomed when the fat priest held it up; the wine gurgled, a healing whirlpool in the chalice.

     Six old women noticed nothing out of the ordinary, hobbled forward to receive the body and the blood. Staggered back to their chairs. And limped out, when the mass was over.

     We waited until the nave was empty. When we came out, the rain had stopped but was beginning again.

07.23.18