Saint Gilgen's Church

I have spent the morning decently in the parish church of Saint Gilgen. It is a small, old building but like all churches in these parts, even the smallest has something venerable and ornamental about it. While the priest talked solemnly about the immortality of the soul, I admired the pink and gold cherubs flying nowhere above the organ or stroked the polished carving of our pew. I am also partial to the graveyard which is home to some noisy blackbirds. We come here from time to time, Mama and I, to sit and think and afterwards, to walk beside the lake. I am not in spirits for writing at present. Mama has told me she intends to leave for Mannheim with Wolfie and I am to stay behind with Papa for a change. N.