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"The music in my heart is from the tolling of the bell"



I drove in silence, watching the road closely as it coiled along the rocky coastline, occasionally flipping on the wipers to remove the sea mist that gathered on my windshield.  How long had it been, I mused, since the last time I was here.  More years then I liked to think I’m afraid.  Yet still, the closer I came to the village that was my childhood home, the more a sense of belonging reawakened.

I entered the village, passing the old high school and several of the shops on Main St, most with new names and new owners while others sat dark and vacant.  I couldn’t help but feel a little sad.  This town was the soul of my childhood and I guess I had never expected it to forsake my memories.  It would somehow remain frozen in time, waiting for my return to begin anew.

I searched for the familiar as I neared the old port, only to be greeted by a today I had not anticipated.  I was home and my home was no longer there.  Then I heard the bell.  The mellow chime called to me, like the voice of an old friend.  I drove with haste until arriving at the little Chapel by the Sea. 
 
I stared as if seeing it for the first time, savoring the weather beaten wood and frosted windowpanes.  The sturdy steeple urging me to enter.  As I stepped into the dim, cool interior, it was as if I never left.  I was that kid again with shined shoes and slicked down hair that came here every week to profess my faith.

  The silence was overwhelming as I slid into a pew, letting the nostalgia of the moment wash over me.  I had found my anchor.  For all my absence, it had waited for my return and, wrapping me securely in its embrace, seemed to say "welcome back, I've missed you.


Bob Quigley
September 24, 2011
Written for “The Church by the Ocean” contest
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