there’s something marvelously pious about walking through cloisters–for obvious lexical reasons. they are atmospheric, that’s for sure. at night they are low-lit, spooky. in winter, cold and almost severe. earlier in spring, they dripped with wisteria. today they were balmy and gold; the leaves on the vines swished pleasantly. one hallway was striped with shapes of pure sun. dappled light danced and swirled about in the adjacent hallway.

i will miss these cloisters with their baroque beauty. i will miss the echo of my footsteps on stone, quick and purposeful, sounding somehow pious…sounding certain.