I have just been to the bank, I was waiting for one of the tillers to become vacant.

As I looked out on to the busy streets I watched the variety of faces scurrying here and there.

Some, dressed in suits with important looking faces, some were dressed in high street fashion faces masked by inches of whale blubber, struggling to stay up-right on enormous heels balancing countless bags on their arms.

Others were old, with weathered jowls, chuckling between themselves. Some were very very old, literally dragging themselves from shop to shop, faces grimacing under the strain.

Among them were a few buskers Mediterranean in looks, wizened by life’s struggles belting out Christmas songs, hoping for loose change from those that passed.

The tiller deals with my enquiry, she’s a pretty woman dressed immaculately but her eyes seem hollow.

I leave the bank, and join the melee of people my face has taken on the face of the crowd. Set on my own cares, resolute that I will not giveaway to passers by, determined to be first in the queue.

It was then that the thought struck me where do all these people belong . . .

Do they all have a place to go to!. A place that they belong, a place that they can call home. Or are they all struggling to find a place in this world. . .

I’m just passing through!. . .

You see although I live my day to day on this planet, this world is not my home!.

Let me explain. . .I’m unsure as to how long I have left here!, maybe another day!, maybe another 20-50 years!, who knows.

But what I am sure of is that my home is where I shall be when I finally breathe my last and arrive in heaven where my DAD & big BROTHER are waiting. . .

Then I will be truly home. Where I can finally rest. And then, as I wait for the heavenly tiller I will gaze from the window and watch all the people joyfully, peacefully enjoying their lives. . .

. . .For eternity. . .


Published by Marc Lesley


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