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Sunday Morning.

On Sunday morning i can hear the church bells. I lay in my bed listening and thinking.
In my mind, i see the rippling river, running alongside the church, silver water, sparkling like diamonds in the sun.
I see the silent graveyard, with its twisted, tormented gravestones.
I see the people, in their Sunday-best, mingling outside the church, strolling, chatting...
I see the crows in the trees, watching  the people, the river, the church.
There are many things on Sunday morning that no one ever sees...
Cassiestar Cassiestar 56-60, M Mar 31, 2012

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