The faintest bells welcomed them onto the church property, then were immediately overdubbed by their tires, the crunching of pea gravel. They parked, and the bells patiently returned to the forefront.
Julian imagined that their source was a church organ player named Midge or Madge or Mildred, a native of Maine who never married but was a source of light to all who knew her, who spoke with hands folded, prim.
She smiled at her detailed, tangential daydream. At least I’m smiling!
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