excerpt....guess where?

Snow coming hard from the sky, long enough to render the mountain path impassable. With cold seeping through his garments the priest grumbled silently. Always the one old man, rain, shine, torment or snow, always waiting. The same cold inside, a dark body huddled beneath fur, waiting for the same words, the same motions. Read. Grasp the chalice. Raise it into the frigid air. Recite words of prayer. Wait. Repeat, and always the same but then a drop of blood on the cloth. And the bread no longer bread, but soft and firm like human flesh. His heart beating so fast, the old main raising his clasped hands to heaven. All on this darkest and coldest of nights. The wind screamed through cracks in the slate walls.