Brother Michael’s black rosary beads slipped through his fingers; his breviary open to evening devotions. Yet Michael’s thoughts wandered.
This epicurean life at the monastery was what he’d wanted when he was younger. He thought God would bless his gift to Him, the things he had given up for Him.
But tonight his soul was in conflict. He had tossed and turned last night in his austere cell. Dreams grabbed at him and taunted him with their realness. He awoke tasting forbidden nectars.
Brother Francis promised fish again tonight. Michael felt he might sell his soul for a porterhouse steak.
VV has challenged us again . . . this week her chosen word is EPICUREAN. Really? EPICUREAN??? Think minimalist. Think frugality. Think giving up the “precious.” Yeah, that is where my head went. And, then I got carnal. What would a man miss the most? Women? Maybe. Cigarettes? Perhaps. STEAK??? Oh, if he was a midwestern boy, why yes ma’am, he would miss that steak. Yum.