High on a hill on the edge of the town there sits a Church that is no longer a church. No services, no spire, no cross high on the highest point. It sits between a freeway and a highway in the evening breezes, surrounded by the hum of power lines, the hum of traffic. Vibration goes through it and it sits, moving yet not moving and with it's faithful clutched to its bosom, waiting for That Day.
They say a lady in white walks the grounds, or that light sometimes shines in the graveyard at night.
I do not know but there is Love and Faith but also Conflict and Loss and mostly a sense of something unfinished and unresolved, waiting.