I close my eyes and remember Wesley Chapel as a child…feeling the freezing air leaking in from under the heavy metal doors, running the length of the altar rail, up the aisles, reaching and swirling around our ankles.
It is dark and we sit quietly under the shadows of the massive organ and pipes. The snow and ice winds and crystal sidewalks outside await while millions of heavy blowing white flakes swirl directionless outside the massive windows.
Seated between my parents…silence as we listen, enthralled, holding our collective breath…not wishing to disturb such perfection.
The smell of leather and old wool, fur and cologne and wet boots; halcyon air. There is a puddle on the floor in front of my seat and I twist my feet away from it.
There will be a bitterly cold walk to the frozen car later, but now I lean back in those turquoise seats…gazing up at the massive ceiling and the lights and I wonder what I would do up there on the catwalk…as ‘The Eyes of All’ suspends us, breathless in the cold…
690 Saint Paul 