We walk through the woods for the cemetery (just browsing) and the kid asks whether I believe in miracles. I ask why.
According to the kid, when grandma was polishing her Jan Pawel II plate, it sprang from her hands and broke in three pieces. One piece struck the kid. An hour later, the pope was dead. Therefore, the kid explains, she believes this Jesus stuff after all.
I ask her whether she thinks grandma killed the pope. No. Then it was a message? Yes. To you?
But it's dark now and we lose the path and and and
and there's Jesus, concrete Jesus, aloft and a thousand candlepower.
I've brought tea in a thermos, just in case, but the candles warm us.