Paris in the Sun

They don’t believe in God here, which is odd to me, considering all these grand stone buildings – bedecked with gleaming glass and thumping bells. And then I remember their story: the king’s proposal by the pope, and all those regal heads. Still, it’s surprising to think of empty wooden pews – resplendent in some sparkling light, no one to fill them as the sermon stretches, stitching the past to present with often said prayers and well-worn references. His speech stumbles then, as a scent wanders in – and the stitching skips a loop, leaving another soul to amble out and find his own way to a bench, table, and freshly broken bread.