Creatures of Habit

A haibun

I check my purse for coins before entering the church, for prayer by pay-as-you-go electric candlelight. I favour real wax and wick, my breath fanning the flames of someone else's prayers. The props and words I've known all my life sill welcome me home though I visit less often.

Outside in the courtyard the garden displays different stages of growth - bare, greening and blossoming. I tilt my face skyward and recognize this as one of those in sync moments. Everything aligned. Perhaps this too is a form of prayer - the tree tops, the steeple, my sunlit face. The reach of it all.

when the church bells stop

the birds pick up

where they left off