It is a beautiful day with not a single cloud blocking the blueness of the sky or the greenness of the hills, and yet Mother is not happy. She is at church. She should be happy. Every Sunday she comes and hears the choir sing and the pastor’s sermons and leaves to home with a full heart.
Yet she is not happy. It has been this way for months.
The pastor who had made her love this church is gone. She has come to accept that. People come, people leave, that is the way the world works. The new pastor is very young, probably younger than her son, leaning on the glass podium more than standing straight, commanding it. He is a skinny man with a round face. He has not a single hair on his head but there are a few stranded curls here or there on his throat and chin, which show he is not a precise shaver. Mother thinks he looks his best when he goes to the barber to get his cuts.
The young pastor is in the middle of his sermon.
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