There’s an non-judgemental old man at the church door, he’s been standing there for quite some time. To be honest nobody is quite sure for how long he has been camped, but he’s been keeping a wistful eye on this recent addition to his left side.
On a quiet day, as the wind whips corners and creaks his woodworking, I’m sure that I’ve seen this old boy stretching out a limb, just a tiny bit further, doing his utmost to tickle his neighbour’s stonework. It may take him another 500 years, but make it to the church he will.
There’s been a rumour going round, that he’s been camped next to the Norman tower for over 1500 years, some say he’s been slowly growing for longer than that. Whatever his tender age and whatever his reason the being there, whenever I spy this ancient being, I’ll doff my cap and wish him well.
I’m not sure if he’s listening when I quietly wish him well. He doesn’t give the appearance of judging, nor do I know if he’s noticed me, but I’ll do it all the same, a ritual each time we meet; for there’s something about this old fella that makes me happy inside, just to know that he’s still sitting there wherever in there world I might be, his soulfully gaze towards at all who grace his presence.
All Saints Church, Farringdon