Cut across by a swath of palm shadow, the laybrinth at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church appears this morning as a kind of existential sundial. There is no guide, no gardener, no gathering crowd. It is made of humbly contrasting brick pavers.

Near the entrance, there is a small vault with a stack of modestly printed flyers. They provide one way to approach the maze. Their paper is moist, having been inadequately sheltered.

Remind yourself of how to walk, how to breathe, how to…

Everywhere is a labyrinth.