At the Archabbey

Harp, Jerry

Jerry Harp At the Arehabbey Stone crosses among pine trees stand in rain. A crow calls from a wooden shed and grabs the vagrant air with raging wings. The iron gate creaks. Even now, years...

...Even now, years later (and I don't know if the old monk is still alive), I wonder how he lived so empty an existence, and long to find myself in the midst of such blessing...

Vol. 123 • March 1996 • No. 5

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