There is a door blue with yellow trim. Down in woods, where the tempest rave. The pollen is laden with glimmers of dust. Embedded in the middle of a hush-down, sits a little wooden church. Fervently stamped at the end of a dirt road. The Jasper floors are hearty – vibrating with birdlike arms leading the morning’s song. A small oasis easily replaced the tiresome-few in-jovial spirit. Moved by a higher benevolence to offer what little suffering they’d put aside.

A gentle heap of summer swept clean across Kankakee River. Broadening every heated stroke through stain glass. In the sanctuary, there are stilettos, platforms, sandals, flats and classic pumps.

What would the church be without its shoes? Succumbing to futile service -less creatures straddling between Pharaoh and the Red Sea, If only parting the waters brought Jesus of his cross.

Perhaps such perfection did not blind the sightless, willingly lead foes by the neck, rather it harped a pageantry of weary -doted believers far beyond the altar. A pair of pillar-doves protected the outer cusp of Magnolia Holiness. Deeper-knowing, that life was more about the green olive fruit than the twig itself.

Upon the balcony, the relics appeared unrivaled in view, The monarchy of virtue, methodology, and discipline.“A little slumber, a little sleep, folding of the hands,” tragedy did not destroy resourceful ordinary folks.

A temple born out of watch night.’. Sinners, grandmothers and children alike came for the slightest of affections. To be -well, prayed for, loved, welcomed and at the very least accepted. written by~Krissy Mosley

Excerpt from the upcoming Short Novel: “Churched Out” Photo Image by Pixabay.com