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Until Monday, when Notre Dame burned, I thought (when I thought about it) that the whole structure was stone. I know differently now. The roof was a forest of ancient oak. And the spire was wood coated with lead.
The times I have entered Notre Dame, although they are far from me now, bring me the memory of the quiet ... of the breaths of so many humans before me.
The quiet is the interesting part.
You go in to the church. There is the long nave, filled with pews and the scent of incense. The ceiling is so very high, the air still, the sun's rays gently streaming in through ancient windows.
I love the quiet.
I love and have loved, sitting in contemplation, in a place that has been welcoming, and surviving, for centuries.
Je reviendra quelque jour.
