The Small Orthodox Church

With the Partrirch's Palace being locked up, chained up, I felt dismayed.  All this way for nothing, or so it seemed.  I was ready to start traipsing back.  To start traipsing downwards.  Between the narrow streets, the washing lines.  This seemed a secluded area, an exclusive area.  The whole thing was interesting.

Suddenly, from nowhere, a young child appeared.  He must've been eight or nine, but no more: 

'Hey mister!  Do you want to see an Orthodox church?"

I just nodded sheepishly.  He beckoned me to follow him.  He took me round a corner, and there was his father, a grey-haired man in his late 40s, early 50s.  This was getting interesting, seriously interesting.  The grey-haired man showed me to a gate, a brown painted gate.  The doors held two crosses.  Two beautiful crosses. 

We were soon inside a small courtyard.  There was a bell, houses on one side.  The Patriarch's Palace shone in the background.  It peered through the leaves.

I was entering into something special.  I could feel it, just feel it.  Eventually, we entered the church, the magical church.  I wasn't disappointed.  It was dynamite, pure dynamite.

Wow!  What a place!  It was a place, a real magical place.  A glorious colourful place.  My grey-haired companion lead me on.  He pointed to some steps.  Some dirty grey steps.  They looked old, but nothing much.  He claimed they went miles, simply miles and miles.  Right down to the Haghi Sophia.  All the way to the Haghi Sophia.  To the centre of things.  But not now, it was blocked up.

Still, the jewel was there.  The iconostasis.  The silver-coloured iconostasis.  The silver-coated iconostasis. 

How I loved to find such things.  Such hidden things.  Such ornate things.  Hidden away so preciously, so carefully.  They survived time, they endured.  They had nobility.  They were a treasure trove, a glorious treasure trove.  The pulpit, the old icon on the wall.  The one above an old archway.  Or so it seemed.

This magical world was amazing.  It was my catch, my prize.  My magical find.  How I loved this place.  I asked about the congregation.  The grey-haired man rubbed his beard.  His frizzy grey beard.  Perhaps five Orthodox still attended.  Opened up the brown iron gates. 

I gave my companion a few coins.  His frizzy grey hair ruffled.  He looked disappointed.  How would the church continue?  No one knows, I hope it does.