The cat in the sacristy window

Who knows if the fault, in reality, was Edgar Allan Poe and some horror stories whose archetypal content was occupying various places in that archive of impregnated resonances that has been my subconscious since the dawn of my time. But that strange cat, whose look with preventive treachery from the moment I set foot in the church, caused me an involuntary shudder that almost clouded the hitherto proud feeling of being open to a day that promised intense and promising emotions.

Perhaps it was the Gothic frame of the window itself, which resembled the cursed threshold to a dark interior that had imposed the prevention of receiving the rays of a sun, which already, on the eve of noon, had far exceeded the highest peaks of the mountains. I don't know, it's even possible that an interfering circumstance intervened, ugly from the moment of its conception and into which I have never felt the temptation to fall and it was the grotesque rainbow of its shadowed skin that had moved some internal spring, which never before, not even on those occasions when I have felt danger blowing menacingly on my neck, had I managed to break my will, to the point of making me give up my efforts. But that strange cat...

The church, rebuilt more or less from the ground up, was not worth much, artistically speaking. But it preserved a patrimonial remains from the 12th century, which, although it was not spectacular either, nevertheless served to add to part of that other historical inventory to which Villon referred when he asked himself, contritely, where the snows of yesteryear: its cover. A cover, which, although austere, revealed the passage through the place of those mysterious brotherhoods of medieval bricklayers, such as that of the enigmatic Master Jhon, who, later, had left a fabulous testimony of his skillful art, in such remote places. and surprising like Piasca. But that curious cat and its gaze fixed on the back of my neck, like the one that ancient travelers said the terrifying Sphinx gave to travelers who passed by, I admit that they managed to ensure that my visit did not last beyond what was strictly necessary. necessary. Curiously, the priest was nowhere to be found.

NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and are therefore subject to my Copyright.