A graphic rendering of this tower appears on many of the documents and news items published in the village, and it has become an eloquent symbol of the community in which we make our homes, spend our days and ramble about. On summer mornings, flocks of mourning doves coo there, and on wet autumn days, the sound of raindrops spattering the metal roof is a comforting sound. In winter, the north wind howls through the belfry and makes a hollow whistling music like trumpeter swans heading south.
On these fine cool blue spring mornings, the tower seems to float above us all, and it can be seen from quite a distance. Out for our early walk and moving toward the river through the burgeoning greenery, Spencer and I turn as one and look up. Our eyes move together to the weather vane and silver roof, and even our breathing is in unison.
3 comments:
Yes, I relate to your sentiment so well. I grew up in Madison, the seat of the state capital. You could see the white building from most hills, and from downtown, and even from the hills when driving into town. I don't know what I'll do if I wake up one morning and, goddess forbid, it is gone.
For me it is the church on the hill. It overlooks everything and aspires to the heavens. It is a much loved community centre and its work extends far beyond the vision of any denomination. The Jesuits have allowed and encouraged that. It's made of old bluestone and wood and holds the fragrance of candles, hope and hard work.
Lovely. I always appreciate the occasional architecture shot among all the beautiful imagery of the natural world.
~Flaneuse in DC
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