Eleven approached like a stampede, left and right running over the second hand of time at a breakneck speed. I wept as hands moved their shadow over one and one, eleven o'clock, knock knock, silence outside. A shroud- Marching to like happy sheep, entering in like howling wolves. I stand, they notice, I breathe. I love. I breathe. I leave. (This story always comes in reverse order.) The echo pretends it doesn't exist, pale eyes ahead of my reach. I look around me. (Tick tock…) I enter the worship center's chattering hall, all at once an involuntary noise and the dance begins. Well over 300. Idle clamber. Life's clattering. Teeth chattering. I ask the silence, the prayer inside, in or out, you decide. Booths lined walls of the noisy hall- coffee, snacks, books for sale and CDs. Worship yet to begin. So, so, so, so, so many voices at once, sound hadn't a chance, thump thump... Now in the fellowship church, voices more muted, ...
(The Weaver's Song)