To the Church on the corner of Hawthorne and Central,

"Thanks, so long, it was fun, so glad to know you. Goodbye."

The church occupied an important corner. It was a crossroads of sorts. From legitimate to questionable. So it was an excellent location. The arched doorways and repeat on windows reminded me of waves sometimes and then the stained glass windows told bible stories and I would look at every one carefully or the ones I could see from wherever I was waiting for the lights to change. I never really got out and walked around.  But I could imagine over the decades I drove past either from town or to town or to the hospital, there were weddings and funerals, and sermons and prayers and hymns and wakes, and dinners and bible study and children playing and people crying and celebrating life and death. That is what I think churches do. We go in and out and stay a while, some longer than others, we eventually leave. Maybe move to the country to another church, maybe out of town, maybe we just give up and don’t believe anymore. We let go.

Then the church is empty. Then a business comes. Then it is empty again for a long, long time. I am imagining this because it changed over the years. The energy changed. The windows were sold or taken but removed. It looked abandoned. Empty. Used.

I kept thinking I should go by, take some pictures, but that intersection begs forgiveness. The night before I went I saw the final preparations and I got there the next morning, but the dismantling was in progress. I parked and walked over and started clicking. I was upset thinking here is another of our places, they are all gone or going. An older man(not older than me) was standing by one of the big crushing machines. He was about my height, had a long white pony tail and beard, wore an old leather hat much like mine and baggy corduroys much like mine, a rough wool coat, dark or dirty with big pockets, I know it well, and leather boots caked in mud, yep…he walked away and around the church…click…click…click. I was trying to draw in the blue sky, the hollow sockets and open mouth in broken brick and tattered timbers and then he was standing in front me and harshly said,”You know if something happens, the insurance won’t cover you.” I said, “Thanks, I know.”

I walked up to him and said,”Sad.” He shook his head. I said,”Another one.”

He asked not expecting an answer, “How long has it been vacant?”
I answered, “I don’t know. A long time.”

He replied, “It is falling apart. A brick could fall and hurt someone. No one wanted it or cared for it. It has been left. It is empty.”

He was right. I can complain because my city is morphing into another era and I cannot stop it.

Like aging, we can’t stop the process but we can slow it down.

 I just wish it weren’t happening so fast.