Saint of the Hills

On a stone in the wall of a building left to rot in the turn of the seasons and crumble and decay and turn back into the earth is written in inscribed letters a verse says something unspeakable. There is no congregation, there is no sermon, no priesthood for this one. There could not be. It wills it so. The moon is rising. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon. Look at the moon.