The ancient church had stood on its hill for a thousand years, and would likely stand for centuries more. A lone figure sat on the lychgate seat. Lost in distant recollections.
One last time.
The small hamlet where he had been born lay hazy in the valley heat.
He was old, grey, and tired, the illness bravely battled had consumed him, body and soul.
His beloved wife of so many years was gone, slumbering dreamlessly by the hallowed yew.
Waiting.
Her spirit called to him.
He rose, pain wracked and weak, it would not be long now.
The chapel door swung open, hinges creaked rustily, echoing in the cool dim interior of this, the closing scene, the final chapter of his life.
A memory came, their wedding day, so far back in the past. The church filled with smiling faces, aglow in the brilliant sunshine.
A shudder coursed through his frail form, every nerve on fire.
Scintillating light shone down, engulfing him in a myriad colours from stained-glass.
Her beautiful face gazed lovingly, eyes reaching out?he smiled.
