Vox Meditantis

Catherine spotlights her steadfast brother, a retired engineer testing life without blueprints. A dusk phone call opens questions about competence, purpose, and learning to be ordinary. Harbour light, pottery jokes, and quiet courage frame two siblings practising presence over performance – together, at last.

Father Walsh’s potential transfer forces Catherine to examine seven years of dawn walks – and whether her sacred exercise routine has been sophisticated avoidance dressed as self-care. Courage might mean learning to stand still instead of perpetually moving through.

A hypothetical question about lunar travel prompts Catherine to weigh the cost of escape against the gravity of staying. Between harbour walks and risotto, she discovers that transcendence might look less like launching and more like remaining.

Catherine considers “adjacent doors” to her vocation: museum quiet rooms, harbour chaplaincy, a community-college seminar, a modest cooking circle, and sketch mornings by the water – less reinvention, more reallocation – as friends nudge, rain stitches the harbour, and permission becomes practice.