The church was dark and dim, and outside I had been in the sun, larking on my way home from school. Yet something called me in...
And in I went, cautiously but drawn through the rarely open door. On Sundays it was a place somewhere between funny, strange and boring. But that day it was mysterious and brooding, and I was drawn in. I still remember the little saucer in the side aisle with the dried flower petals - and wondering what deep message it signified. And near the special place, the altar, there - the hanging candle in its red glass. I knelt and prayed, but not in words, but in a yearning for some direction, some substance to give the larking a meaning.
© Farmer 26 January 1996