Poem: Threads

silver spidery threads

lit by golden sunshine

connect an inner church wall to chairs
which have not moved,

where people sit,

where people stand, 
but do not kneel.

spidery webs,

silverised,

gilded,

in a French religious ceremony.

God’s light rebounds, 
when rainbow patches form, 
from filtered light through windows,

to bounce from saint to silk and stone,

to radiate a living smile in praise of life.

Spiders know how to catch God's glory.

a funeral,

a living end,

makes us sombre,

reminds us,
dust to dust.

Dignity 
in death,
Lost

is a Must.

I stand straight and tall near that cold stone wall,

to give respect to a human life I did not know,

watch, 
to contemplate death, 
recall,

life amidst people standing now,

who await a turn ahead,

who are invited to bless the dead,
they do...

knowing it could be you.

silvery threads spun,

were not disturbed for quite a while.

like us, 
not disturbed for also quite a while, 
but threads and webs of life remain,
alone.

Then.
When we least suspect it, 
Life is done,

GONE.  

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November 2014
At the first funeral I stood and sat on the left of the aisle, up against the cold stone wall. As I contemplated many things, I noticed a mass of fine webs at hand level, that linked those stones with a chair which did not move because it was attached to the row of chairs it was part of.  I did not know him. He did not know me. But I had seen him on his land and I know people who knew him. A Tragic End. Respect.
At the second funeral, the following day, I sat and stood on the right of the aisle to see the coffin and altar.  Here as I sat having paid my blessings, in front of me at foot level were more of the same fine threads, fine in visibility. fine in texture. At a particular poignant moment, sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows and the web glistened with bright colour on its silk.  I smiled.  Life lives.
She and I had not met but in a Summer I might have waved if she had her window open... she was housebound for over five years.  I have a regret to my shame.  Each time I planned to visit, some thing delayed the event.  She and her daughter, who is also a neighbour, lived 'en famille' in my house. Respect.

When I wrote this I had no idea that I would post it on Advent Day One.  I light a candle.