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The sun had long since reached its zenith and was making its slow and steady way toward the horizon. Bright rays stretched their fingers towards the bay and making contact, caused the water to shimmer and dance. The sky was still a vibrant blue with just the slightest hues of red and orange coming to life in the far off distance. The artwork of afternoon was still in its early stages; the shades and images of late afternoon, twilight, dusk and finally night were still a fair ways in coming.
The water, bathed in sunlight shifted and swayed, changing colors from cerulean to aqua to stone grey and back again. Its depths shimmered in shades of dark and light, creating patterns with no discernible beginnings or ends. Waves lapped the shore in a gentle, constant rhythm, brought in by the light wind that held a hint of chill, creating a soothing soundtrack to accompany the breathtaking backdrop. Couples walked hand-in-hand along the beach, their footprints imprinted distinctly for a moment, then disappearing, washed clean by the lull of the waves.
Far off in the distance, a handful of grey clouds appeared, a brushstroke of haze added to the emerging fire of the imminent sunset. Whether they would creep closer and evolve from haze to smoke...that was still uncertain.
The old Catholic church, proud-faced and majestic, seemed to float in the middle of the bay. In actuality, it sat on a small isle a few hundred yards from the shore. Its white stucco walls shone pristinely in the sunlight and the slated roof, a deep brick red in color, had taken on a copper-like sheen. The front doors were ensconced between two diamond-paned stained glass windows and when opened welcomed those who would come into a thirty foot high narthex, topped with a rounded bell tower. Opposite the front doors, a massive pair of oaken doors opened into a vast nave. More stained glass windows depicted famous scenes from the Holy Bible, most prominently that of the Lord’s Crucifixion, Burial and Resurrection. At the front of the church was the sanctuary, with the altar always garbed in the appropriate attire of the church year. Atop the altar stood an elaborate Crucifix, depicting the Lord in the throes of agony. And to the side stood His mother, the Holy Virgin Mother, Mary. The immense space seemed to stretch beyond time and echoed with the thousands of voices that had once spoken here, voicing the history of centuries past. Intended to be a physical depiction of the Lord’s miraculous walking on water, the church had been built on the small island specifically and named The Insula, or simply “the island.” The church had been erected over two hundred years ago and although renovations had been made, they had stayed true to the original aesthetic of the building. While modern conveniences had been added and old supports replaced with new, the church looked the same as it had when first built.
The bridge was sturdy, wooden, and it provided safe passage from the quaint little town of Wren, Massachusetts and its lovely beach to The Insula. It was lined with old time gas lanterns, though it had been many years since gas had fueled them. They ran on electricity but the picturesque appeal remained. Lit at dusk each night, they lined the path trod by millions of feet and even in the darkest night left no one in doubt of the location of a place beloved by natives and popular with tourists.
A lone figure stood in the middle of the bridge gazing across the bay. Garbed in a light overcoat, the collar upturned, the figure was distinctly male though that was all that was distinct. A golden retriever lay contentedly at his feet as though the bridge was familiar to the canine and reclining against the bridge’s rail was a black umbrella. Despite the bright sunshine and the calm water, the man seemed prepared for a storm. His silhouette was a familiar one to the people of Wren, for he often frequented the bridge leading to The Insula. He never crossed all the way, never went inside. Always he stopped halfway across. And there he waited, though no one knew for what.
As he waited, his gaze fixed and distant, the wind picked up suddenly. As it whipped through his hair and the coat of the retriever, the waves became choppy and turned grey. The sky lost its brilliant hue and the grey clouds that had hovered so distantly, so out of reach, began to race inland and brought with them the scent of rain. There was a distant rumble of thunder and a brief flash of lightning.
A storm was coming.
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