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May 12, 2009 The old church seemed to climb miles and miles into the sky. The structure reminded one of a ship positioned vertically and hoisted far and far inwards to the land. It had murals painted on it, and old saints, or the Divine Mother herself staring out with eyes, eyes that almost were alive. Inscriptions, bells, many steps, and not bird in sight because it was south, south from where black hawks were recently roaming, gliding slowly in the dusk air. It was that time of early evening when the spring or summer sky could turn pink and it did. Driving to or fro there was a sadness that the day had not brought what a day could bring, but a gratefulness that it had not brought worse. The church was empty and if there were any spirits inside or about it was only for those spirits to know. Beyond and about was the world of the living. Dirt and dust, houses and strip plazas. The world ran onwards like a machine. Where the black hawks were, they knew things, things that only a black hawk could know, and they flew, hungry, hungry and sure of something, sure like the tall vertical ship in the sky with a bell under an old light moon and a soon-to-be encroaching darkness. ------------ About the Author: For more of Brian's short stories, visit his website: http://www.freewebs.com/storyandstory/. Email Brian Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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