You could hear the bells calling them to mass,
Hear the swish of robes on the flagstones.
The gentle murmur of prayer,
The dignity of their movements.
Standing in the shadows,
Their presence engulfs all other senses,
Their belief strong and true,
‘Something’ washes over you.
You are lost in a moment of time.
Eyes closed, you feel yourself drifting,
Lifted above where you are
To a higher plain of awareness,
Touching nothing, feeling everything,
A part of your surroundings,
Embraced by The Holy,
Absorbed into their prayers.
The sounds whisper away into the alcoves,
You awaken from your trance,
Back into the grounds of reality,
There is no-one there.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a beautiful old yellow stone priory with ivy growing up the sides.
Written for KL Caley’s Write Photo 9th June 2022.