So many of the same pictures were hung about the walls, burning in their individual spotlights, that I found myself moving about the space adrift on waves of memory from that day back in November.

The priest went down the red-robed steps that led up to the altar, the folds of his alb gliding over them like clouds over the horizon. He began walking across the room, his strides a gentling lapping current, the slap of his sandals echoing alone off the stone walls.