He sought refuge from the driving cold wind and slipped into the church. It was dark. A perfect metaphor for his disposition. His eyes adjusted and he could see a warm glow on the far side. He walked between the pews, rounded the corner and entered the small chapel. Little lights flickered and licked the cold air — the prayers of the faithful, prayers entrusted to the holy communion of saints. A light as reminder that their intentions are not forgotten. The visitor took a deep breath. He put his satchel down and loosened his coat. He lit a candle and knelt at the prie dieu. It was time he warmed himself by the celestial fire.