Organised

For forty years she climbed the rickety red staircase as many had done before her.
High aloft she sits in solitude, the keys before her, waiting for the wind to blow through the pipes before pulling out all the stops.
Frozen fingers rubbed and suppleness restored,
Ready to touch and play the chord.
For forty years she pedalled and kept up the tempo and they responded with voices rising upwards to the wooden keel.
Hearts were uplifted,
Spiritually renewed and firmly cemented in the joining of vocal and instrumental unity.
Forty years, Sunday by Sunday...........

Now silenced by the pandemic,