In the purple haze of nightfall
ghosts of old cathedrals,
souls of chapels long abandoned,
ease into the nave.
A congregation choired by wrens
nesting in the luxury of peace
laced with nature’s select scents
of trees and trillium in bloom.
Pine branches whisper prelude
and recessional in constant litany;
every day is holy here
where moonbeams illuminate eternity.