It was lying on the dashboard of a small white car that was parked at the beginning of South Road just before you turn up High Street. There was nothing else on the dashboard except this bleached ecru palm cross. It triggered a memory that played through my head as I walked in the nearing daylight of the one that I was given at Bath Abbey and kept for years afterwards. I like them. I like the ritual they represent, the simple symbolism of them that generations before me have taken nourishment from.
For today, it is enough.
