As the weeping moon sheds dreary shadows on the shore, I sit and think. Between the sea and the land I watch as the milky sails are set and the anchor grindingly raised. The time for departure has come. But I am not ready.

At my feet, the shifting sea reflects the galaxies above, and in the shallow tides I imagine I see mermaids joined in an ancient dance. I can envision the sea gods with shining eyes looking at me with subdued attention. And I curse them, for I hate the sea.

How shall I take joy when I am bound for a foreign land? My heart is cleft in two. Light pierces it through, and I am made to flee while my heritage and home are left in darkness. I am called to exile. I am called to defeat. Against my inmost feelings, I flee from that which I love. And what a love! The gilded halls, the storied academies, the ever-echoing chants of saints. The phantoms of all these legends now dance in the moonlit shadows on the ebbing tide.

A call from the readied vessel awakens my senses, and I slowly tread across the sea-soaked sand. As I approach the ship, I turn around and look back on my footsteps. They will be my last on this beloved soil. I walk up a plank to the ship, and find I am the last to do so. All the others have already boarded the tiny craft. Of those faces I see on deck, I recognize a few; yet they are recalled from that distant and formless time when we knew one another on familiar ground. We all are quiet. Even the vessel keeps a strict code of silence, for the rigging is well oiled to make for an easy flight. The sails are now fully raised and the silent wind sets us loose from the moorings of the shore.

What things I have seen! What things I have hoped for! Light had come after a long darkness, and it spread throughout the realm. But Providence abandoned us. The myths of our pagan forefathers came alive one last time. We came out of our slumber to find a waking nightmare. The spirits of the dead walked again, and the light of ten thousands were extinguished. The minions of the Underworld arose and haunted the streets. We who escaped must now flee our haunted land.

Now we rise and fall to the rhythm of the sea, and I am sick. The smell of salt saturates the air, and my senses press on me. But I still firmly grip the side of the boat and stare at the shoreline. Both wind and tide now pull us gently away from land.

Now I know what it is to be in exile. I am free from fear, but not from the ache of desire. I want to return to the haunted land. I want to again walk down the golden halls. I want to sing with the saints whose chants still echo in the cathedral. I want to serve the king in his royal palaces. I want to minister to the devils who now walk the streets searching for prey. And though the tide now carries me away, I pray, dear God, that it may bring me home again. I long for the time when I shall return and this exile is over. France, dear France… I shall return.