Angel and us.

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Bells from the distant village Church reached us through the Brittany mist as today’s vespertine hour arrived, the air heavy with farmyard whiffs. The Angelus, calling people to lay down tools and toys for a moment and to remember that there is God, and that he is to be taken note of. I’m happy to heed the thin, dull beckoning, but not to take on board all that now adheres to the summons. I drop the human decorations and single out God for the focus of my thinking. As was intended. A quiet loveliness fills the warm kitchen as we all fall silent. Conversation pauses while together five of us drift apart and sink inside ourselves as a private act of public testimony, unembarrassed. Unified in our separation from each other.