By Brian Whittingham At Canal Street’s Railway Path, the church’s wrought-iron gates are padlocked with decay as if the church itself is a prop for a spooky film. We stumble over dry twigs and crunch leaves, squelching mud underfoot, the thorny undergrowth reaching for our ankles as we wind our way past dead headstones...
Read MoreBy Claire Casey A mouth, snarling at the world, a figure of stone, standing against all the evils of this world that threaten to overrun. It forces them back from whence they came, and protects the building that it calls home. No evil shall enter, or pass beyond, the thick, ancient stone walls. Not...
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