When I was little, the church down at the end of our street was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Tall, narrow stained glass windows that seemed absolutely magical when the light poured through them.
I haven’t thought about that church in years, until today, when I found an open door in downtown Terre Haute. Strange how a door can open into a building and flash you all the way back to being eight years old.
There were old-school wooden pews and slightly padded kneelers that could have come direct from the church of my childhood in Southern California.
Turns out my childhood church as built in 1927, and this one was built in 1910, then rebuilt after a fire in 1934. Makes sense, then, that they look similar, even though they are 2000 miles apart.
The rose window is small but well-placed for its theme. For those not raised Catholic, the center figure is Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music, and the window is in the choir loft, between two banks of organ pipes.
Some days seem to fit together like a stained glass window. A hundred little pieces of different color and mood that, when combined, create a complete picture.
Maggie Stiefvater
Nice post. Colour and light have a way of transporting us to different times, places, realms.
So beautiful!
Nothing like this anymore.