La Ermita

 

I sit in the plaza outside the hermitage.

In the clear light of the midday sun.

A few benches are placed for relaxation.

From one of these I ponder on the building I see.

A  not insignificant structure with few windows.

Great thick stone walls encrusted in white paint.

A large wooden door which remains closed.

But opened on Sunday mornings for the Mass.

To one side there is a small hollow .

A garden with orchids, magnolias and roses.

They sit in the shade of a few palm trees.

With flambouyant trees a flame of red flowers.

Not far away there are three wooden crosses.

The one in the centre larger than the others.

An arch overshadows them from the glaring sun.

Inside the holy portals of the hermitage we enter.

To behold an inner sanctuary where once a monk lived.

A hermit  who spent his days and nights in solitude and prayer.

The hermitage sits on a small hillock overlooking the ocean.

Perfect for meditation and contemplation.

A basic if not modest dwelling in isolation and quietude.

Now it is the local parish church with a local following.

The interior adroned with icons and statues.

Amidst flickering candles and votive lights to the saints.

A frescoe above the altar depicting the Last Supper.

From hermitage to church retaining its sanctity.

A witness for centuries of a faith steadfastly held.

By one individual monk and now the many.