La Hirondelle 38

 

The elder, of the quartet of nuns, gestures for her more agile companions to walk on ahead. Patiently negotiating the uneven cobbles, with the aid of her stout stick and sandals, a benevolent smile upon her lips.

Saint Pierre discreetly averts his gaze, as the younger trio slips nimbly through the cathedral doors. Moments before pealing bells fall silent, for Sunday morning worship to begin. 

The soaring architecture of the church, and the reverberations of the tolling, draw attention heavenward. 

Beyond the shade of the trees and the shadows of the close set streets.

To a blue sky. In which gargoyles spring from soaring stonework. Protectors, from a pagan past..

Recounting fables, from traditions more ancient than the Christian faith.

Towers topped with gilded finials.

Carry the entranced eye, to a lofty spire. Topped by the golden cross.

Its story chronicled, in glass and light, within. Source, no doubt, of the elder sister's composed serenity,