I Was Glad

The soft sunlight dripped from the languishing tree ever so slightly obscuring the delicate etching on the colorful glass. Where was I? The red brick, as if it had been molded from Georgia clay, sat strong hugging this ancient creature giving the window a feeling of being encased in blood. The tints of glass in shades of blue, purple, gold and aqua were a stark contrast to the bleeding brick. Its delicate features sat perched on the sill with the words "I was glad" etched deep into the granite. Who wrote these words? Why? and what manner of beauty was I beholding? What small cell of history had I stumbled across? I found myself wanting to know the inner workings of the person who wrote these three simple words. "I was glad", they slipped so softly from my lips I barely realized I said them. A light breeze tinkled the sunlight through the leaves and reflected off the colored glass. A thought came to mind, "Don't forget to be grateful that you love words." All well and good, but how was I to describe these thoughts and feelings in my head, grateful that I loved words indeed. I stiffled a scream while gazing at the haunting window. I imagined for a brief second that someone was looking through from inner walls staring back at me...I wondered what I looked like in all those colors and I wondered, once again, where the hell I was!

(No need to adjust your eyes, this is indeed a new entry, looking forward to writing more)