Worshipper

I am the last remaining worshipper of the goddess Demeter.

Santiago is a Satan worshipper.

At the Western Wall, a revered Jewish shrine in Jerusalem's Old City, a lone ultra-orthodox worshipper pressed his snow-covered beard against the sacred stones.

I'm a nature worshipper.

A cerulean sky and breezy warm weather was today, the 20th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. As usual, I walk to Tim Hortons café for summer drinks. At home, there is a Filipino dessert of sticky rice balls, jackfruit pieces, and tapioca pearls in coconut milk. Lunch was a curry rice dish much like Beef Rendang, but it wasn't. I walked my 72nd time this "Krismas" year to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church at St. Albans Road. On the way, in the immaculate garden of the Korean lady, was a hummingbird floating in the air. I delighted myself by whispering in Esperanto, "Kolibro!" (Hummingbird!). At the church lobby were two Kenyan ladies in beautiful colourful African gowns. I complimented: "Your clothing is really nice!" As I was sitting at the back of the near-empty nave, a Filipina worshipper approached and irksomely asked that I take off my green safari hat as a sign of respect. "Sorry!" I exclaimed. Later, at the front of the nave was an ongoing baptism of a Filipino baby boy named Mateo. Filipinos gathered around, there with the white minister and a Filipina nun. As I walked home, I said in Esperanto, "La loko estas magia!" (The place is magical!).

The temple was filled with worshippers.

Sadly, the ever-eager Reverend Judith had not been able to conjure up many worshippers, even though it was Father’s Day. There was just one old dear sitting halfway back, her faulty hearing aid letting off a high-pitched whistle.