Outside the day is long over, but in here the bright text-screen holds sway over the eyes and the tapping fingers, which would go on for hours more except that numbers in the top right hand corner of the monitor are telling the time and saying that it is in fact time for the walk, which is usually looked forward to and normally never far.
Making a move now for the door where there's just the slightest hesitation: is this to be a going outside night, a straight to bed night or just a quiet port and a candle inside? Outside, definitely, out there with the trees: Weeping, Happy and Laughing Trees where the stories of the world are told and made. An invisible space in the glaring flatness of naive daylight, but quiet and brooding after sundown, when—in preparation for a great ebb and flow of prayers and songs—she dresses in the silk mantle of after-dark and then waits in the same way that an old cat might curl up and wait by a fire on the coldest of nights and purr even more loudly when the tears of a child begin to flow, or—when the walk has been long and far and late—a curious old dog might sidle up to and snuffle a lost and lonely hand.
Tonight the entire sky is a rolling billow of grey and black. The moon is losing her battle to be seen. In the name of Calvary and of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the time and space is sanctified and the ebb and flow begins.
'See that moon?'
'Yes.'
'It's disappearing right?'
'It is, and it's losing the fight, the darkness is too strong. It would be nice if it was to at least be given a chance and I could see it shining again.'
'But it is not lost.'
'It is, there is no hope in such a sky—blind, grey and billowing as far as the eye can see. No moon now.'
'You are impossible.'
'Impossible?'
'Yes. On the other side of those clouds the light is shining bright on that face.'
'OK. I'll pay that. It's just that I wanted to see it for myself so I could be be sure.'
'A fact is a fact whether you are sure about it or not and I happen to be able to see what you cannot.'
'Thank you. Can we talk about some others now?'
'Go right ahead…'
The ebb and flow takes a different turn and the sky is forgotten. Then, not much later, the subject of the sky is brought back into the conversation.
'Look at that! Clear as far as you can see and the moon free as a bird!'
'Wooah! It is. How did that happen?'
'Doesn't matter. I got you on both counts didn't I?'
'Indeed: the light on the face … and free as a bird. Still don't know how that happened. You did it while my back was turned.'
'Don't you mean “while we talked”?'
'Yes, you distracted me the way a magician does. Amen.'
