Knobbly knuckles and wobbly knees
Fold down on the mat
With yesterday's dust and today's pebbles before the altar,
Fo'csle on a troubled ship 
Struggling under saffron sails,
Questioning survival.

Shoes off and the voices of the world silent 
As number 53 shows up on a digital monitor,
And the rich tones of a French tenor break in
With 'Dona la pace', saturating the soul with repetition
And lingering still in the echoing halls of the mind,
Lifting the sorrow, stress and strain
Of a world on the edge. 
 
So we leave for the countryside
Bessed by a Burgundy sun
Baking down on a picnic lunch under the conker tree,
Overlooking hills gently patterned by the farmer.
And the world seems at peace,
And we know what we want,
Restored by a presence we can’t understand
But know  
As the storms within settle,
While those beyond rage on. 
 

Taize  September 2017 

The Sanctuary, Taize