The breeze ruffles the curtains. It carries the smell of the sea and salt. It lands on my skin.
The room is long and narrowish and light and high. Ten rows of bnenches fill up the majority of the space in the room, but mostly they escape notice. The butt and back of the benches are lined with thin burgundy cushions.
The stage is half a step above the rest of the room. The cross is bigger than life, which is as it should be. The sunlight comes in through the skylight and casts a rectangular, God-made spotlight on it.
This rectangle is echoed across the room by six rectangles of light which fall on the pews and into the aisles. There are 3 on each side; the long windows let more than just the breeze in.
It is modest, this place, and some would say small. I smile as I walk out the front door and take it in from the outside.
The white paint on the outside is not brand new but the church carries a well-loved air about itself. It’s the sort of place, that if you put any thought into it, you would just know that it’ll get repainted before the whiteness begins to actually chip.
The building has a minty green trim. The shape of it is close to the shape of a capital “L”, except that the horizontal, lower portion is a bit to small and stubby. This added on room– the horizontal part of the “L”– has no door from the outside but it does have large windows.
I could walk across the green (but not perfectally manicured) lawn and step between the bushes that hug the perimeter of the building. I could look through the window and peer at the simple wooden table that dominates the room. There is a copper platter just to the left of the center of the table.
Two-thirds of a loaf of French bread sits on the platter. The reflection of the simple overhead light on the platter is broken by the few crumbs gathered by the open end of the bread. A mostly-full bottle of wine sits close to the right edge of the table. The sun has dried most of the condensation that once clung to the bottle. Only a few drops remain where the neck widens.
The above was this image, incredibly clear, and powerful, that just popped into my head. I decided to get it out of my head and write it down. It’s a place I’ve never been to, but I love it there. It’s my happy place, this little perfect church in my heart. I’ve gone back there, every now and again, to get away from everything.
Do you have a “happy place?”