In the weeks that followed, the priest found himself more attentive to the small moments of speech that passed between people in the course of a day. He noticed how a single sentence could settle differently in different minds, how a familiar citation could
open a door to reflection or serve as a practical guide depending on the listener’s readiness. He carried the memory of the ride as one more piece of the ongoing work of understanding those he served and of remaining open to the ordinary ways in which meaning could shift and clarify. The convent stood a short distance from the church, the road between them familiar, the evening light the same as it had been on that particular day. Whenever he drove that stretch of road again he recalled the conversation,
the quiet nod he had given, the careful silence he had maintained, and the eventual laughter that had risen when the page of the psalm finally lay open before him.
