Vespers

Lights from the bell tower shine into the inky blue night, a beacon.

Long pews slowly fill with needful souls, their silence instinctive and total.

The cathedral is vast yet intimate. It is both gloriously ornate and a comfortable, well worn home.

The air swells with the first notes of sacred song. Saint Cecilia, patroness of music, smiles from a gold sun monstrance, an antediluvian relic, as the chanters sing Magnificat!

A copper vessel smokes on the altar. I kneel there, the smell of the incense slowly curling its fingers into my nose. I breathe deep the fragrance of ancient spiced wood. It moves through me and the thoughts on my heart swirl gratefully into it, like leaves swept aloft on an earth-scented wind. I exhale a prayer.

I open my eyes to see the purls of smoke rising from the altar. The prayers float gracefully, lingeringly. They are sheer, visible, rising.

The choir is singing like angels as the massive organ exhales in timbral, triumphant psalmody.

Luke I - The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

Indeed I give thanks...

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Americans - Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

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