A name of a place never visited still conjures up memories. Here is the grey church built from substantial blocks. The stonemason with his sleeves rolled up, honest work in return for an honest old age. It was his own face that he built. Friends that have long gone still insist on dropping by: it has something to do with the rain, water is a carrier for the distillations of their various souls. The rain patterns the windows in the church. The high window with diamond leading and glass that magnifies the clouds seen from the other side.