by Linda Atkinson
The choir is back in its loft, Stretching out long unused muscles. Giddy, joyful, and yes, out of tune. Our organist beams patience, As we resume a much-missed rite. And we welcome each other again. We look out from our raised perch At the sanctuary we love. Ready to sing and ready to serve. When were we last together? An ocean of time has gone by, Since we sat in our snug wee places. More than part of the Service. More than songs for the Sunday flock. The choir is a nest for those in it. We missed it as we miss home When exiled from a place we love. Welcome back, my happy, song filled friends!
Linda Atkinson is retired from a lifetime as a career as a civil servant and lives with her husband in her native Nova Scotia. She is using her retirement to — among many things — revisit an early love, exploring the power of words.