I have been wandering in the wild, green, woods.
I come to the church door, my hair tangled, threaded with bindweed and bramble. My hands earth-grimed. Pockets stuffed with acorns, berries, a small, nesting bird.
I am become a witness for the wild earth’s beauty, a listener of dawn breezes and owl music.
Lifting the latch silence swallows me. Ancient stones enclosing mystery.
I approach slowly, feet cooled and soothed on time-worn floors.
He stretches his arms wide to welcome, eager to see what I have discovered.
Taking the bird in its cocoon of grasses he places it high on a ledge, by an open stained-glass window.
I can see now the flowers which climb spirals upwards on stone columns, the diamond stars winking through roof timbers.
I am come again to this place and know it “for the first time.”
Standing between the worlds.