The evening is cold and dark, a damp November wind slicing around the old stone walls of the church. I burrow like a turtle into my fluffy scarf, and turn the iron handle on the door, which groans in indignation as it swings open to the chapel. From within, light, if not warmth, radiates from the tomblike darkness. A line of candles is lit, variously deformed by melting unevenly from the wisps of cold air sneaking between the stones. 

Allhallowtide, the triad of days from the final days of October to the first of November, draws back the veil of time and reminds us that angels and saints and all the company of heaven are looking out for us. But it also reminds us that other people die and we will too. Time and eternity huddle together like parishioners on a windy day.

The music of Arvo Pärt evokes the poignancy of our fragile lives intermingled with eternity.