Festa Caterinae 2017

Like last year, the weather was beautiful for Mid-Day Prayer at the Chapel of St Catherine at Guildford; unlike last year, the congregation included no dogs or under-fives. Earlier on in the day we'd had Mass at Swanvale Halt, and I was as ever hugely grateful for the good souls of the parish who turn out loyally so that I can observe the feast of my patron saint, especially when one was a gentleman who only joined us from the most extremely hard-line Protestant church locally a couple of years ago. There always seem to be six of us present, no matter when the mass is, or what day St Catherine's Day falls on. Next year it's a Sunday; I have a fantasy of saying Mass in the chapel at Abbotsbury, but it may remain no more than that.

The Wheel

In the chapel, Christ's Athene

Holds her wheel

Like a weapon,

Its riveted and silvered blades poised to plunge

And part the millrace of my poor flesh

Like the Red Sea.

‘It wasn’t like that’, she insists,

‘It really wasn’t. Look:

I set it turning, ever-so-gentle -

And all the mute hues of the hills

Are fired by the gold of heaven.’

‘You’re right,’ I say, wide-eyed,

And return down the long hillside to my car

To go on,

Branded with the sign of light.