Stand still

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here

We left for Moissac early in the morning, keen to find a cafe and some substantial food after a skeletal dinner the night before. When we lifted our eyes from the asphalt we saw pink and white apple blossom cascading down the hills. Many trees were espaliered or pruned to ease picking. Cereal and oilseed fields alternated with orchards, but we pushed on almost blind to the morning’s beauty.
The city streets of Moissac were noisy and confined after the ridges and occasional forest path of our morning. Replenished at last with a tuna baguette and cola we could pay closer attention to our surroundings. We visited the famous abbey cloisters and cathedral. A yellow motif painted on the walls of the church lightened the interior and highlighted the simple geometric stained glass windows. Above us the vaulted ceilings were covered in white and burgundy tiles, further adding to the luminosity of the space. The cloisters cooled and calmed us further. Many of the columns have been re-carved and while the fountain has been removed from the centre, the lawn is kept green and trimmed. A tiny figure in the museum drew me closer. Our lady of solitude knelt, eyes closed, gown folded across her chest, contained and serene. She seemed to be in a cocoon of peace and contemplation, reminding me to “stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here.” (from David Wagoner’s poem Lost)