Chants and Sunsets

“When a turbulent mind and wounded heart surrenders to grace, breathing is easy” – T.F. Hodge

Later that afternoon the guys returned to take us to the Abbaye of Sant Atimo, where resident monks engage in Gregorian chant. The monks are a community of Canons Regular of Premontre (also called White Canons). They are dressed completely in white and were founded by St. Norbert. The church itself is of Romanesque style, and the monks live in surrounding buildings leading the ‘common life’ as set out by the rules of St. Augustine – keeping their own bees and maintaining olive groves and food and lavender gardens.

Jesse made mention as we drove there that the monks had just recently turned the soil in their olive tree grove and that the colour of the soil was beautiful against the grey/green of the olive trees and he felt lucky that we were able to see the contrast before sun and heat turned the soil grey.

We arrived early. Indeed, the sienna brown of the soil made a very nice contrast to the trees. The monks would not be chanting for another half hour so we took advantage to muse about the grounds and look at the silent gardens – silent except for the hundreds of bees, of course. The church was massive and entering it was like walking into a cool cavern out of the heat.  The bells chimed and seven monks came silently in and took their places. The beautiful chanting began. The acoustics of the high ceilings and the stone walls lent itself to magnifying the sound and harmonies all the more so. We felt quite privileged. The monks don’t sing for the tourists. They chant six times a day (lauds, terza-mezza, sest, nones, vespers, and compline) whether there are people there or not – it is part of their common living. We were honoured to have shared in such beautiful music.

Afterwards, we were driven back to the fortress for dinner. Both Jesse and Martin made me promise that I would get some shots of the Tuscany sunset, especially as we would be able to see it setting over Monte Amiata.

We were seated out on the veranda for dinner. From where we sat we could see the inevitable evening feeding of the swooping swallows. Hawks still floated far above on the breezes. As dinner progressed the sun started to fall behind the mountain in the distance. And I took the promised photos.