|The Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine|
Noon is heralded by the bell tower's toll;
most continue as tourists, unaware of the call to prayer.
I stop, wipe St. Augustine sweat from my brow,
(no similarity to Millet's two peasants
thankful for a small basket of potatoes)
shift purchased trinkets growing heavy.
Lowcountry's Baptist has carved Flemish oak
and marble altars of white Vermont,
but standing beneath four evangelists
with my Old City Market sweetgrass basket,
if I'm honest, I'm thankful for the blessed cool air.
Southern heat is historical in and of itself;
never mind preserved architecture
and stories of the past - affluent or otherwise.
Stepping into these respites from daily grind,
I feel guilty admiring stain glass windows and sanctuaries.
In the deep south, tucked away within Savannah's charming grid,
my youngest son prays before Mother Mary - straw hat upon his head.
I glance at the gentleman who labeled my sweet boy
disrespectful; dare him to press the matter.
He doesn't - and somehow I believe Jesus is pleased.
by Margaret Bednar, August 12, 2016
|The "offending" hat that he didn't want to take off...|
This is for "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Get Listed for August" - pick three cities I have visited and write about them so I wrote about memories of different Catholic churches I have visited on my travels.