There were about 20 of us scattered across the stacking chairs. The Monsignor was a dapper man with a sense of humour. Behind him, many Catholic churches would have a triptych: a richly decorated image of the divine intended to evoke awe. Here there was a picture window. Someone had sensibly concluded that no quantity of paint and imagination was going to match the sight of Blackcomb mountain. As the mass progressed the blue sky darkened and cloud softened and then dissolved the mountain. Snow began to fall. By the time we were exchanging the sign of peace the snow had thinned and the forest around the church was still.
This is the speed a heart should beat.