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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Medieval English Cathedral</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Once I had this fanciful idea of recording<br>the silence in each great cathedral<br>and marketing these...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As you pull open the worn and squeaky door<br>there's a strange moment of apprehension as if<br>you're not sure what will greet you - a fullness<br>or an emptiness; a football-stadium roar<br>or a silence; an earfull of praise or<br>a mindfull of questions...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">but the first step inside, and a silent gasp -<br>it's bigger inside than outside...<br>and the sound of your steps soars to the high<br>indescribably glorious roof like a<br>small bird looking for an escape.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">so that you'd like to sing a note or two<br>to hear them repeated by those<br>invisible angels of the echo, waiting poised<br>in the stoniness of the walls and roof<br>like the mountain cliffs and valleys<br>from whence the stone was dragged<br>by devotion.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">and you feel an intruder into the space of history<br>waiting for you to find your place.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How wonderful if at this moment, history unreeled; <br>played itself backwards; and as the years rolled back, <br>the cathedral nave would fill with the quietly respectful<br>devout. Then back again, and the voices would be more raw, <br>rich with the earth they'd just been tending.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Would the praise, to our ears, sound more heartfelt? <br>we'll never know.<br>Reel back again to that almost<br>unimaginable scene - the walls rising, still part built; <br>the clambering masons, chisels singing on the stone, <br>lifted only a little lower than the angels<br>on wooden planks on slender wooden scaffold, <br>the squeal of pulleys, the sudden silence of tools<br>and the call for the master mason; <br>and up there where the roof is still blue-grey sky, <br>the occasional bird from an optimistic nest<br>built the year before in the part-built spire, fluttering, <br>searching for a crumb or two from<br>the mason's heady meal</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=461003" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">as birds may wheel again over half-there walls<br>when please God no the roof falls in and<br>respectful visitors walk down the tidy gravelled path<br>where once the aisle was walked, bowed head and singing, <br>but now so neatly grassed where pews and praise once stood, <br>remarking out aloud or in their heart<br>how the silence is, still, living, there.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a></strong></div>