The Thin Place

 

Night shards shatter the sunlight as she gathers a few necessities for the journey. In a dark alley near the river’s edge, she greets him. In the silence of the starless urban night, they meander across the bridge.

 

The lights from the distance train station glow out of the fog as they beckon them.  Hand in hand they trot to the entrance.  It is their particular stop each year near the midnight hour.

 

Once aboard they cling to their seats. Here no one greets them except the conductor.

 

“Hands up with your tickets, please!” She cries to the couples silently holding their tickets up for her to punch as the silver train slivers through the darkness.

 

Out on the open plain the countryside darkness yields to the starry night.  The train brakes and in the distance the abandoned silo adjacent to a barn is visible by torch light.

 

Couples from throughout the coupled train cars head to the sacred place. The tattered barn reveals its age in the starlight.  Hand in hand the couples enter with great prescience of the appointed hour.

 

The clock tower in the nearby village begins to strike as the last of the couples enter the barn.  They gather in a circle.  The smell of hay fills the air.  Shadows shiver in the torch light.

 

The clock tower chimes 12 mid-night at the dawn of Christmas Day.  One by one the animals in that place – sheep, cows, a donkey, even border collies and cats, bow in homage toward the East with great anticipation as the couples’ gaze in silent wonder.

 

Kenn Storck

December 6, 2022