GONE

A bit of prose, tribute to Nigh Chapel
Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry
Sunday, March 26, 2017

It's gone.  The little roadside chapel of my youth.  For more than 120 years
it stood by the rambling creek, the Sunday morning gathering place of the
farm families that lived in the vicinity.  In its early days it was the center of
social activity in the surrounding rural area.  There were chicken suppers
and ice cream socials, Easter and Christmas "programs" when the
youngsters did recitations and raised their pure, sweet voices in loud (and
sometimes discordant) celebration.  For all those years, and four generations
of our family, the old Seth Thomas clock ticked away the moments, as itinerant
preachers offered up sermons based on the tenets of the Methodist Church.  It
seemed it would be there always, this cornerstone of my childhood, where the
moral values instilled by my parents were reinforced, and my faith in a higher
power came to be.  It is gone.  First closed, then destroyed in a windstorm, a
victim of the relentless march of time.   I stood in the spot where it had been,
and through a veil of tears I pictured, still, my parents and their friends passing
the time of day on the front steps.  Surely this spot is hallowed for all time,
caught forever in the memories of those of us who were fortunate enough to
be a part of Nigh Chapel.

happy memories
survive the passage of time
in this hallowed spot


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