All The Falling Stones

“Light pierced the morning mists and kissed the coloured glass, like a mother would a child.  I watched it move and wrap itself up the pane, illuminating the saints and sending rainbows across the chancel.  And I knelt then in thanks, for no matter how I was to die this day, at least I had this moment.”

— Claire Loader

“We walked in silence, the soft leather on our feet barely leaving a whisper on the smooth stone floor.  Row after row of men, our brown robes stirring together in the dim light, forming almost a solitary shadow.  And as it was each night we prayed this way, in the cloister below the tower, I felt his eyes on my shoulder, his stolen kiss in the library still on my lips, I felt a love I held even above god.”

— Claire Loader

“The stone felt cold as she lent against the pillar of the grand house, her eyes following the breeze as it kissed the trees lining the long avenue and swam out above the lake.  She looked then at the little cottages that dotted the shore, the laughter rising there to mingle with the silky twilight and she wondered, how it was that she could stand in all this grandeur and feel that she had nothing.”

— Claire Loader

“A lookout, a watch tower, a place to keep things safe.  A silent phallic symbol reaching out above the sodden earth, evoking not the luscious locks of Rapunzel, but the sweaty fear of priests, knuckles tight on gold and silver.  For it was no prince who sought the treasure there within, only the sharp blades of a viking horde.”

— Claire Loader

“He looked upon the door in wonder, the delicate stone carvings weaving dragons into angels, snakes into mermaids, hands that reached out to him on the flag stones, bidding him to enter.  And as he stole his breath and took one last glance, he knew, if magic could not be found within this place, then it be in none.”

— Claire Loader

“And so we parted, my hand sliding out from his, my heart tumbling into the darkness, swept away by the torrent that sped below.  And I hoped then, as I watched him go, that he would chance someday to look upon the water and smile, for there would lie a thousand tiny pieces of my heart, waiting to smile back.”

— Claire Loader

“He always felt at peace with stone.  Its smooth surface bending to his chisel, the chips falling as if in offering, a slow unfurling of beauty before him.  He never deigned to understand God, but he felt him always in this moment, a light that filtered through flesh and then rock, bringing the earth to life.”

— Claire Loader

“We snaked along the path in silence, our bodies no heavier than leaves, scattered and blowing in the wind.  We passed the big house, its gates so strong, its pillars the promise of warmth, of sanctuary.  But it was no sanctuary where we were going, the workhouse was far from warm, and as we passed the sturdy stone, so very high and mighty, I prayed to Saint Jude that one day I would return to this place just as strong, that one day I would be no longer frail.”

— Claire Loader

“Do you remember what you said to me, before you left this world?  You promised that you'd wait, in the grey light of early dawn, in the dew that wakes the flowers, the silent alcoves of my heart.  Yet how is it I no longer feel you here, amidst the waning light of day? That even in this quiet place, I feel so terribly alone?”

— Claire Loader

“A seat for long white robes, for clergymen to watch, the sacraments, the sacrifice, God moving in their midst.  And years from now a seat for seekers, for lovers in the ruins, to ponder at how such a place could fall, so easily into dust.”

— Claire Loader

“As I stood in my grief the swirls of the cross snaked in the cloud of my vision, tears forming prisms, and I saw you there for the briefest of moments, before the tears began to fall and with it my life apart.”

— Claire Loader

“Art is the interpretation of the soul, of a material world we struggle to fathom, that we struggle to come to terms with.  And I will never come to terms with this, that your once flesh body is now encased in stone, your face once so soft, never mine again to touch.  The only reprieve for my broken heart, you are now entombed in beauty, immortalised in art.”

— Claire Loader