The last two weeks, I've attended the latest service. The sun has set while I'm strolling, the air grown still. I know I'm preparing to pray, not actually praying, but it's hard to convince myself of that. The sauntering feels just as holy, the forest just as much a cathedral.
As if to emphasize the point, church bells toll as I finish the walk. These are real bells, not recorded ones. I feel like a medieval serf being called from the fields, drawn from drudgery to the promise of eternal life.