Three years ago this week, I was a guest at a cloistered Catholic abbey in rural Connecticut. I spent my days in near-silence, waking before dawn for Mass, working the farm alongside nuns in full habit. When bells rang at regular intervals, all work ceased so that the nuns could chant in Latin.
In the past 12 months, I've found myself returning again and again in my mind. I long for the quiet, the natural beauty, the sense of timelessness there.
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