Place of Worship

Here it is at the end of the writer's day, and the blank screen resembles a black crow clacking its beak for some sustenance. The writer casts before it the morsels now. The bits are not good, but it is for a moment's peace, and the crow lives a short life in comparison to mine. The poet wannabe wants an audience. The best place of worship for the writer is at a halfway house facility in which there is a large church setting. The parishioners seem to be, a good portion of them anyway, well-meaning leftists. Others are the inhabitants of the halfway house, and they are the ones whom the writer appreciates most. There are no dress codes, spoken or not. Streetwear is just fine. But now the "big dark," in which the sunlit hours shrink to their minimum, precludes one's going into downtown for the religious service at that place of worship. Worship usually lifts the writer's mood for good during a day. So, this writer looks forward to next spring when he can again galivant around downtown after having attended the religious service.