I rose at 5 o'clock in the morning. The same time as usual. This is the hour when the day is most still. The time to pray, and only the sound of small birds singing to be heard in the trees. Some think that a monk’s day is empty. Nothing to do from dawn to dusk. But only people who have not understood the monastic life say things like this.
After prayer, breakfast. Bread and milk. And speaking of bread, this is the morning's work. Baking bread. There's nothing better than the smell of bread filling your nostrils. Flour and water, salt and yeast. Knead the dough between the hands and place the bread in the oven. Enough time to go down to the sea to fill the lungs with fresh air. Back to the bread, and see it nicely baked coming out of the oven. After a light lunch, and another small prayer, it’s out to the garden to weed. A monk has plenty of work to do!
Two hours of reading the Bible at the end of the afternoon. Everyone in complete silence. Even the birds are now silent. Turning the water into wine is a good story. I've tried it myself but haven't succeeded yet.
Early to bed again tonight. The birds are sure to wake me tomorrow morning.