Roll In

The children sparkle beneath the golden rays as laughter bounces from the warm roof tops of empty parked cars one by one they roll in assemble themselves inside the vast congregation worshippers sing praises lifting his name harmonizing with the elegant whistle of a silver plated flute and the rattle of symbols that roll off your little red tambourine.

So far off the black paved highway passed minute by minute upon the hour a host of spirits zipping in a haste to unknown destinations are pulled back curiously by the sign, by the architect by the open space, by the unknown or perhaps by what moves the worshippers the flute, or your little red tambourine.

Behind glass plated doors a marvel of warm faces dipped in glory reach their welcoming arms around familiar and unfamiliar shoulders greeting a host of spirits that zipped into the open foyer babies, toddlers, children, young adults old and new scurry down the halls to sing praises, to lift his name to harmonize with the elegant whistle of a silver plated flute and the rattle of symbols that roll off your little red tambourine.