{This time last year}, we ran like wild things on rocky beaches of Britain. All we were missing was the bonfire! But I felt while we got the spirit down, we were missing the liturgy. We had {Saint Walpurga} but wanted for Mary.
Strangely enough, this little country corner of central Florida is more Catholic than the ancient Catholic strongholds of Albany, so we had our pick of grottos and churches to attend to honor Our Lady, and we picked this one near the old Benedictine monastery. I would have liked a May Crowning, but I didn't give it enough forethought to research how to make a flower crown. Instead, we brought some potted tulips to sit in the sunshine and draw the butterflies.
Afon ran around wild, reaching for votives and clambering over where the old abbot rests. My friend Masha says he is a changeling child, and I can't believe how right she is. And how right it is. That my wild-spirited son was held still for a few minutes to say his Memorare and his Hail Marys and then let loose again: a perfect embodiment of the synthesis of this holy day.
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