'O Rose of Sharon!' The deeply shocked Reverend Ianto Evans shouted, his eyes turned up to the Heavens and with quivering voice asked piously, ' Did you hear that, God?'

And all because I, a poor sinner in a state of darkness, had said that certain of the thirty nine articles of faith were conceptually puerile, and hardly relevant in the twenty-first century. Much worse, I was destined to be immolated on the alter of indiscretion, when I suggested, to a theologically confused Ianto, that Calvin had, probably, been sexually abused as a child and this had impaired his deductive reasoning.

It was a stiflingly hot afternoon, too hot to be stuck indoors, levered like sardines into a whitewashed tin of a bible bashing building. The heat may have had something to do with Reverend Ianto's countenance turning deep purple - his breathing seemed laboured as well. At first I thought his coal black prayer suit, with sewn up flies, was too tight for him until he recovered and ranted on. My luck ran out.

'That word, and in the House of the Lord,' he gasped, clasping his favourite reading, the chapel bank book, to his bosom. Mortified by the slightest allusion to sex, he collapsed, but not before I was expelled. My luck had returned. The incident certainly synthesised my interest in exotic flowers, so much so, I have become a martyr to Horticulture.

Seeking clarification I asked my Great Aunt Mary, 'Have you seen Rose of Sharon?' I was hoping she could enlighten me.

'Not a Catholic, was she?'

It was silly of me to ask, Auntie departed this world in nineteen forty eight, after the full moon at the autumn equinox. Disgusted with the religious antics of our villagers she upped and left. A devout Pagan, she returns periodically to keep in touch. Being helpful she said,

'Let's sit here on this bench,' once comfortably seated, she rummaged in her voluminous leather bag for a small bottle which contained a greenish coloured powder, she placed a little on the back of my hand.

'Smell that,' she said.

I could hardly believe what followed – I felt as if I had entered through a door of light and there we were, both, standing on a small plateau covered by rocks the size of a football. I felt as if my body was weightless as I moved with ease over the rough terrain. I became part of a time space element of another dimension. My body merged, effortlessly, with the minuscule wave lengths that rotated in complex mathematical progression to form virtual patterns. A perfect duality existence where waves and particles became indistinguishable.

Suddenly I was back on the bench.

'What did you see? Auntie asked.

'A beautiful creation, with harmonious wave patterns - waving about like a bush,' I said. 'Was that the Rose of Sharon?' Then added, ' it looked to me like a burning bush but without fire.'