The morning ritual
A helicopter hovers high above me, the buzzing dot juxtaposed against the clouds edged with sunlight, reminiscent of the Ascension. I am not Catholic, but even I am surprised when I recognise this term and share it with my husband all those years ago. I am even more surprised to find that - as we attend a friend’s wedding - my responses are automatic. “Peace be with you,” he chants, “and also with you” I reply without hesitation. A suburban chick in the country, we pile into the car with his endless siblings, off to the early morning mass, my first foray into ritual and ceremony, my own family devoid of such things. I watch The Virgin, the pressed robes of the priest, take in the smells of humanity and incense, the shuffling as he genuflects in the aisle. I absorb more than I know. © S andy Millar - available on Unsplash Back in the moment, I watch the helicopter, framed with heavenly light, I wonder about their rituals, these pilots. Getting the call, the adrenalin starts pumping thro