The Trappist Monastery In Conyers
for David Baker Set back in the trees the mock Gothic sanctuary was stained by shadows and light. Around it, low hills lapsed across the fields as if to show how pride could be edified into grace. As we approached, walking down a path where tulip poplars spilled cool basilicas of shade at our feet, you stopped and pointed straight overhead. A plane, hardly the size of an insect, so far off it was out of hearing. But, as you said, a perfect example of poise amid the large mercies of the infinite.
Thinking About The End Of Summer
This back way home through swaying grass is the way we found one night this summer when rain made everything seem taller. We’re walking that same way tonight in the faint beginnings of September as another rain reaches down to touch us, and great trees drip water into the grass. It’s true. We still discover our lives in quiet ways in the dark even if for a moment we think it’s not the rain we hear but a satisfying click as everything settles into place.
