The elderly man I visit enjoys an author named Ellis Peters. She wrote an historical series that revolves around a monk named Brother Cadfael. Last week we delved into a forward about the book, A Morbid Taste for Bones. As he read, without the aid of spectacles, I smiled to think of the similarities between the hero and this gentleman. 

 

The introduction posed the challenge of composing murder mysteries around someone who rarely exits the thick monastery walls, and is, by profession, good. My companion has lost his thirst for traveling farther than the post office, and even the conference across the street which drew a crowd bumping up against a thousand did not entice him. Brother Cadfael and my companion are content with quietude. Plus, they are never naughty. 

 

There was a time when I read an entire series about an abbey. My sons loved the heroes of Redwall lore, and begged me to take them on in great gulps. The characters in that world are mostly mice and beavers, who battle against the injustice of rats and slithering snakes. Then there is a feast. 

 

It seems that the imagination hungers for morality, and courage, the way an abbey of peaceful creatures hunger for savory pies and blueberry crumble. I am grateful for them, too. 

 

Maybe I will bring dessert next time I visit him.