I shuffled through the wheat field, until the wheat field became a memory

I grew up in a place where gravel roads led to narrow trails that merged into a dancing wheat field that stretched for miles.

At fourteen, with an inquisitive mind, I walked part of the trail I ventured many times before. When the trail opened to the field, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Yellow run rays hit a broken window on an abandoned building. As I approached closer, I realized the faded white building was once a church. The building lay dormant, rotting boards upon the ground, intermixed with wild wheat and golden rods. It was beautiful in all its brokenness.

I can’t help but wonder how many times I may have passed it in my adventures in the woods, stuck in other thoughts. There was no door to open, just an open space inviting me to walk right in. When I stepped inside, fragments of the stain glassed window lay shattered upon the ground. A few shards of glass remained attached to the frames. When the evening sunset shined through the glass, it cast prisms of multicolored hues upon rotting floorboards.

Divinity, deserted

Barefoot I trotted 
Through a wooded path
To an open wheat field 
Many times, I had passed

Yellow golden rods swished
And swayed with ease
Whispering my secrets 
To the summer breeze

Amidst rain-soaked piles
Of elm and birch
Sat a decaying building, 
Now a vacant church

Through the threshold 
of the open door
I saw the empty alter 
Where children prayed, no more
Through the stained-glass window
A shower of amber hues 
Painted divine rays of hope 
Onto rows of deserted pews