snakey ladies

I walk towards a large, stone chapel. It’s insides are cold and drafty, silent except for the echoed footsteps of robed women snaking, in a continuous line, through the chapel’s alcoves. A single woman lifts her dress to momentarily step onto moving a walkway. She steps off, leaving a tarred footprint on the chapel’s hard floor. I look up into her jaundiced eyes—a vacant stare that seeks to turn me to her side. A gentile touch from one of her robed sisters snaps her back to reality with only the slightest jolt. She quickly falls into step with the others, continuing their mechanical snake through the chapel.


About sweetdreamscrazy

I'm a spectacular generalist. I sail, ski, take photos, adore animals, write (more than just nonsense), can ramble on and on about whisky, read comics, paint and sit around and do nothing. More will be added to this list. Including people. I'm slowly overcoming my fear behind the lens.
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