I shall stand under a archway of pine trees
and listen as the wind whistles through the branches.
I shall stand on the shore line
and listen to the anthem of smoothed stones
being rolled and tumbled
by the ever moving sea.
On sticky hot July afternoons
I shall be seated on a chilled pew
in a vacant and cooled nave
and I shall reflect on things bigger than me.
On August evenings, I shall look high towards
the sky, aghast by all that I can not see and
affirmed by all that I do see and I shall feel small.
On breezy September afternoons
I shall tread lightly amongst old weathered grave stones
and follow an overgrown trail to visit
and pray with those who will never know my name.
And perhaps, I may even, go to Church.
E.B. Reid. May 1, 2022