They bed down on the pews. It's cold in the church but the children don't complain. Soon they are fast asleep and their father follows not long after. She stays awake, resting her weary head against her pack.
The distant boom of war gently rattles the tall windows and the timbres high above. Flashes of light dance through meek-faced saints. It has become so regular that the distant carnage sits at the back of her senses and becomes strangely calming. Like rain on a window or the distant hum of traffic.
There's a sureness about this place. An eternalness. She is not sure why she feels better here than she has in other places. Perhaps it is the reverence it carries. Or the faint chance of its spiritual guardianship. Or maybe it's just the solid stone walls. Either way, she soon finds her heavy eyes closing, and sleep encompasses her. And all the while, the war turns over a new day.
Paddy Dobson
11th September 2021