When the cathedral burned…
Oh, Notre-Dame…my heart. Brick upon brick, life upon life, century upon century…and the spire, that spire.
You are burning…burning…and with the conflagration goes the best, the absolute best of what humanity can be…
10:28am…I hear a mad, rapid fluttering at the reading room window. I suspect the robins are back at it.
I take a final swig of cooling coffee and venture onto the porch with broom in hand. The porch is lit up with sun. The chimes are quietly churning in the wind and the window ledge is strangely empty. Not a twig or piece of nesting detritus in sight. I look around. Where are they?
It appears then that the robins stopped by our porch only to say hello, to flutter around the edge of the ledge…and then…are gone as quickly as they came.
The sound is distant, far above, a gentle flapping with purpose.
I look up and observe a steady stream of high flying birds, robins and maybe many others…heading into winds…ascending together in the direction of the tree line opposite the house.
They are off to mourn the cathedral…
690 Saint Paul 