She squinted as her eyes re-adjusted to the light, walking across the square until she found a small patch of grass. Sitting, she placed the scarf-wrapped package she carried close, just touching her knee. No arthritis today.As she settled in, she glanced at the tourists wandering in and out of the St. Louis Cathedral, where she had spent most of the afternoon in meditation. Inside, Sophie had immersed herself in its warm gold hues and ornamented ceilings, and in her secret heart reveled in the irony she created by being here. She enjoyed the physical opulence of this church, its architecture, richness, its sheer magnificence, while rejecting entirely the symbols represented in its windows and polished wood. Quietly, she breathed, the hours slipping by, actively expanding her own direct connection with what others called God.Now she sat outside of the cathedral looking in, with a view of a gleaming Andrew Jackson, his sword held high, his horse rising up on its hind legs, ready to do battle.
