A Summer Church

The wind has swept, a gentle grace,

From sunlit skies to this sacred space.

A church of stone, where shadows play,

And golden summer light holds sway.

The silent air, a gentle hum,

As fading day begins to come.

The church stands still, a tranquil sight,

And whispers secrets in the night.

The windows gleam, a soft, bright glow,

As twilight paints the landscape low.

The pews are empty, yet they hold,

A story whispered, brave and bold.

The stillness deep, a sacred peace,

Where summer's light begins to cease.

And in this church, so calm and bright,

We find a solace in the night.

(photograph: William Aitchison (Wink)