[For some reason, a preliminary draft of this post got published when I hit “update.” Apologies to my subscribers. Here’s the finished version.]
Mr. Prose and I were going to traipse around Georgetown on Saturday, but traffic was snarled due to a race, so we decided to walk the grounds of Washington National Cathedral instead. The gardens are lovely and the view of the cathedral is, well, awesome. (See photos here if you’re interested.)
On a whim, we decided to go inside the cathedral. So glad we did, because we were greeted by this:
The sun was hitting the stained-glass windows just right, creating this light show on the limestone walls. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope.
I’d forgotten how many stained-glass windows were in the cathedral. It really is a lovely place.
This really shows the scale of the cathedral.
Here’s a closeup of one of the columns:
Don’t you love unexpected gifts? When you hear a song you once loved out of the blue on the radio or an impromptu concert outside an art gallery? I used to think if I ran home and played that song on my CD player or computer, I’d have that same great feeling. It never happened. The element of surprise was missing. Sometimes it’s more than that.
One of my favorite memories is from a trip to Prague. It was a perfect summer night and blue hour had just begun. We were crossing the Charles Bridge over the Danube, looking towards the castle. All of a sudden, a motley-looking string quartet struck up a beautiful rendition of “Ave Maria,” and I didn’t think it could get any better. Then fireworks went off in the distant sky. For once, I was glad I didn’t have my camera. It would have spoiled one perfect moment. And no matter how many times I played “Ave Maria,” it would never re-create that experience.