The Old Church - #4

She parked the car. The gentle rippling click of the key turning away from the ignition was crisp into the silence. For a brief moment, she waited feeling at the stillness. Clustered on the summit of the towering mound, the fractured rooftop of the old church hovered on the hill. Poised in the cloud-like a rubbled dust-drenched lighthouse beacon. She stood watching, puzzled by a heart-stopping sense of loss vaguely troubled. She saw the house adjacent to the old church, the one Mr. Joe had told her was his. Grabbing her luggage, she paused outside for a moment to take in the cool breeze. From somewhere in the old church, a bell began to toll on. She glanced towards the sound. The bell had a tower above it. It made the church look like an ancient house with a chimney. Remembering she had come with a camera, she took out from her car and began to snap pictures. The melancholy resonance echoed through the hills. Seeping through her tired body. 

The overcast of rolling clouds