I long to hear the cathedral organ playing: deep and hopeful. But it has been many years, so very many years, since those echoing sounds filled these cavernous rooms. When they first closed down the Cathedral, the silence was overbearing, overwhelming, but a beadle was still kept on staff, sweeping the cobwebs from the altar, opening the Chapel to inquiring visitors and scholars. It is true that even in those forlorn early years the silences were greater than the many small noises of the faithful, it is true that the vast majority of the building was closed up, undisturbed. Still, the appearances of these sporadic visitors, the desultory attentions of the beadle, kept alive the belief that one day the vast eerie silence would be filled with the petitions of the devout, the reedy voices of the boy's choir, the impatient shuffles of children ready to resume their daily life outside the confines of the Holy Ghost.
Stories for Nighttime and some for the day / Ben Loory (splendid book!)
countdown to the first day of autumn, red leaves floating on the pond