Not in my cloister on a cloud

Where Normandy meets Brittany, there is a city on a hill, in the sandy land reclaimed from the Atlantic. Mont Saint Michel. I had wanted to visit it for years, imagining this cloister in a cloud, the ethereal chants of the monks of times past hanging like ghosts in the cold air, perhaps the choppyContinue reading “Not in my cloister on a cloud”