I loved my prayer rug. Ordinary in quality though it was, itglowed with beauty in my eyes. I'm sorry I lost it. Wherever Ilaid it I felt special affection for the patch of ground beneath itand the immediate surroundings, which to me is a clearindication that it was a good prayer rug because it helped meremember that the earth is the creation of God and sacred thesame all over. The pattern, in gold lines upon a background ofred, was plain: a narrow rectangle with a triangular peak atone extremity to indicate the qibla, the direction of prayer, andlittle curlicues floating around it, like wisps of smoke or accentsfrom a strange language. The pile was soft. When I prayed, theshort, unknotted tassels were inches from the tip of myforehead at one end of the carpet and inches from the tip ofmy toes at the other, a cozy size to make you feel at homeanywhere upon this vast earth.
I prayed outside because I liked it. Most often I unrolled myprayer rug in a corner of the yard behind the house. It was asecluded spot in the shade of a coral tree, next to a wall thatwas covered with bou-gainvillea. Along the length of the wallwas a row of potted poinsettias. The bougainvillea............