THE CHURCH

The door, like the rest of the exterior, was painted white and as I drew it open to go inside, it creaked with age. With a resounding bang it closed and I found myself standing in the middle of a little porch. Before me stood yet an inner portal, bearing a close semblance to the first, but my nearest passport to the interior. I opened it and went further inside.

To the left stood a stately and cozy reminder of a forgotten past - an old pot-belly stove gilded silver in divine reverence to it's dwelling place.

In the corner beyond it, was an organ, the melodies of which resounded throughout the whole countryside calling the congregation on a Sunday morning. This symbol too was ornamented. A number of golden vases stood on it, ready to receive the bounty of an early summer.

Stretching to the front was the aisle of the church - a pathway bounded on either side by row upon row of pews. Adorning the walls above these seats were more religious fixtures - plaques, mottoes, crosses. The golden rays of the setting sun poured through the arched windows and played upon these objects.

A solemn silence reigned over all, save for the hollow footsteps of my intrusion as I neared the front where two varnished steps stretched to a beautifully finished platform.

To the left was the pulpit and beyond it, the alcove. In the middle was an altar - the place of worship and site for the offering of communion. To either side of this beautiful and intricately carved edifice, sat two exquisite chairs.

Above the altar, a stained-glass window caught the gleam of a filtered sun and increased the veneration by transforming it into scintillating rays of red, blue, green, yellow, orange and purple.

I breathed deeply the beauty and history of this place and as I returned to my obligations, I was filled with peace and comfort.