In a forest grove - not far from here - pine trees stand like pillars reaching towards the heavens. Early in the day, sunlight streams amongst them and a cathedral silence settles over the tangled undergrowth. The only parishioners are birds and insects.
The hum and drone of the bees is devotional - the chatter of the birds, choral.
In the confessional, a woodpecker rattles out a forgiveness.
And a man has stopped on the track, transfixed.
Two white butterflies drift around him as if they are his very thoughts.
Neither begotten, nor forsaken.
The man is wearing black shoes, black trousers and a black cardigan – but his mood is not black.
Besides, he is also wearing a shirt of blue and green checks.
A blue that reflects his childish memory of the sea.
A green that matches his eyes.
His mood this morning is one of joy – orange, like the t-shirt he wears beneath everything.
The man is searching.
Not looking for something lost, but something already found.
Discovering it anew is his salvation.
He turns and walks further into the forest, a small bird skips along the path in front of him.
The bird is not afraid.
The man stops, says hello.
The bird says nothing, there is no need.
Three horses in a meadow walk over to the gate where the man passes. All four stop.
Commune.
On the hill before home he picks up a fossil. A clam, both sides closed for eternity.
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