Charmed, I'm sure

This evening, at the invitation of Amal, I took a short trip, 26 miles up the coast to the ancient city of Byblos.  There, we strolled in the souk - the labyrinth, lantern-lit streets, quiet and empty. Later, past the Citadel, my footsteps echoed on the cobblestones of the still and silent courtyard of the mediaeval Church of St. John.  Wandering down to the small port, blue and white fishing boats were docked for the night in the protected harbor.  Walking out and looking back from the jetty, the lights of the seaside restaurants, nestled into the hillside, glowed from the mainland.  Then, as we climbed the winding, narrow road of blind corners, my French phrases of delight, curiosity and observation were interspersed with my slight breathlessness.    A shrine was set back along a path just in sight of the road.  There, an ages-old shelter housed a statue of the Virgin Mary lit by the candles left behind by her pilgrims.  Two simple wooden benches provided a moment of meditation, mindfulness and prayer.

At several times over the hours, I had to pinch myself.  I'm in Byblos.  In Lebanon.  This is my charmed life, as if I had a genie in a bottle.