Monarch butterfly

dances into view.

Miniature stained glass windows

illuminate my world.


Grandaddy preached in tiny Virginia churches,

where white steeples reached above the countryside,

idle cows grazed and silence prevailed.


Until Sunday

when paper fans fluttered in every woman’s hands

to ward off the summer heat,

moving the morning’s message into willing parishioners.

Colorful dresses, Sunday’s best clothes

tight fitting collars and once-a-week suits filled the pews.

Joy and community

emanated throughout the building

and beyond.


Quiet sermons

hymnals held open and shared.

Songs of centuries



So far to come,

so far to go.

Every Sunday morning

I grew



Church Glowing