There is a church in South Carolina, Sheldon Church, that was built before the Revolutionary War. It was torched by the Redcoats when G. Washington and the rest of the enlightened patriots were asserting what would become our independence. Sheldon was rebuilt when the ruckus calmed down, but was burned again when Sherman's army came calling. Her remains stand to this day, proud and defiant, shaded by centuries old moss-covered oaks in the SC Lowcountry.
I have visited this serene, spiritual place many times, and I never tire of it's beauty. When I feel depleted by everyday cares and concerns, I carve out some time to journey there. I think about how much she has seen, the changes she has weathered. The spirits that guard her.
To touch one of her bricks is to touch the hand that formed it, a tangible connection to history. I leave absolutely renewed.
Here is my latest drawing of Old Sheldon, and a photograph to compare it to.
outflows and inflows of creativity
Friday, August 17, 2007
Old Sheldon Church
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