Putiki Church I step inside Almost cautiously, like a small child … Half afraid. Here is an awareness. Which never before have I recognised; It strikes me that I am entirely alone. From far away from the trees by the river … Comes the sound of clear bird notes (But it is winter—the sound is shrill; Sharp, like the frost on the church lawns Early this morning) Someone is watching me… I look around, prepared to give some stranger an unwelcome look (Though isn't that what I am too—a stranger?) But here perhaps is a friend; It is Mary's eyes who gaze from a coloured window, Her pale face softly illuminated … I have a feeling that she wishes me to pray Yet still I sit defiantly, (I do not comprehend I wait, listen, for something else.) Now a reconciliation is gradually coming to me; The winter sun's lights, like some golden benediction, Stream onto my bowed head, Bowed, through some instinct of humility. I find it easy, in this small church To think of places Where God. (Even with my doubting mind; Sometimes believing, yet too often not,) Could be almost understood. Cath Matthews