The Labyrinth at Loretto Retreat Center
by Marianne Peel  

Follow the gravel road
to the left, circle past the barn,
corkscrew past the bundles of hay. 
Listen for the morning dove’s call.
She will guide you
to the labyrinth. 
Stone next to stone,
a spiraling in the clearing.

Nuns in habits, thick as burquas,
carried rocks in aprons,
in wheelbarrows,
in wagons.  Sisters fingered a rosary
and sang Gregorian Chant
as they placed stone snug to stone.                                 
They chanted praise songs
to the cedars in these woods.
These nuns prayed for discernment:
which stones belonged together,
which sought the other out for companion,
married in this hard-scrabble ground?
A pair becomes a quartet becomes
an octet. They vibrate madrigals.

Listen to this forest symphony
of communion.  Slow walk,
feeding your bare feet
on this coiling.   Find your way
to center.  And there
you will find
treasures left just for you
from other travelers. 
A beer bottle cap.
A stub of a candle.
A rusted horseshoe.
An empty locket.
A string of broken
worry beads.