I've been reminiscing about when I met Fr. Fleck. He was the spiritual promoter for our Lay Dominican Chapter meeting, at St. Stephen's Priory. Now, not only do I miss Fr. Fleck, but I'm still heartsick over the closing of the priory. That's how Fr. Fleck felt, too. We use to cry together and console each other. Now.........
Memories of St. Stephen's
It's been a year now, the door to the priory
closed. Plants in bright uniforms, which use to
guard the entrance are missing. Sightless windows
search for the statue of St. Dominic.
I drive through the circle driveway,
listening for prayer, looking for
movement, but the stones ae silent,
the fountain dry, and the benches empty.
Cob webs bloom among Queen Anne's lace,
in St. Cecilia's garden. The branches beckon
me to walk the overgrown path to the Charles.
No canoe, no paddle, no contemplation.
Where's the praise for this dusky wood?
Laudare. Benedicere. Praidicare.
I wish.
I pray.
I could.
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