The two marble towers proudly stood above the ground, each were a mirror image of the other. They were a sign of both the past and the present. White and yellowing marble engraved with arches and pillars that accented their faces. At their bases, six wooden doors separated into three pairs, each pair under their own unique arch emblazoned with the figures of saints, angels, and cherubs. The doors themselves worn and stained wood, smoothed and shaped by the most magnificent of artists, and inlayed with metals beginning to show signs of age and use. Detailed to almost an over the top level, they were truly doors fit to open to a house of God. Their size was again a reassurance of their greatness; large enough for two men shoulder to shoulder and another two tall. Fierce guardians looked down from above their tongues and teeth showing with their permanently grimacing faces looking down on the small movement of bodies beneath them. They themselves masterfully carved bodies of stone sitting on their perches for centuries.

Entering through the heavy daunting doors, the gaze from the guardians above was finally cut off, and into a dark, damp, cool, and quiet world, of worn stone and hushed whispers one would become enveloped. Stealing you away from the world so alive and bustling with tourists and citizens, a world full of cars zooming through the streets almost the size of sidewalks, and the distinct blaring of European sirens, as if the doors were actually a portal into a time long ago. Now instead of an endless maze of sidewalks and cement there was only an aisle stretched out ahead adorned at the end by an altar draped with the finest of fabrics, white and lined with gold and upon this stood its polished and golden centerpiece. The centerpiece itself trying with great effort to reflect the light which tried untriumphantly to seep into the dark abyss and encasing the altar and its raise floor upon which the shepherd preached to his flock, the Biblical story of Christ has been carved, again into great blocks of wood, by men, masters in their trade. Along the sides of the worn aisle stretched two meadows of wooden pews, rows after rows all leading to the altar. Empty of their congregation for the time being, all seats to many a congregation of many a generation. And to the outskirts of the meadow were the forest of pillars supporting the the great, vaulted, wood paneled roof upon their trunks.

Yet in this world ruled by shadows the stone walls held great masterpieces of colored pixels of glass. The light taking its advantage of their colorful translucency they would glow red, green, blue, yellow, purple and every color and shade in between. Each of them telling a story of a time passed. However, they were told through images that said more to the beholder than any collection of words could ever hope to share. The stories became alive in a person’s mind as every glimmering shard came to life with the help of the great orb in the sky; every radiant pane becoming a source of life in the cool confines that they called home. Like a thief of beauty, their light was hidden and only upon finding yourself inside will you be able to see and believe of their greatness and marvel at their chaotic elegance. However, of all the collections of the glass one can find and stare at in wonder, there is one of which that holds a place of its own within the great architectural structure it sits. Measuring an astonishing thirty-two feet in diameter it shows the beauty of thirteenth century art. Forever blooming in an ever widening circles like a flower but with pedals of glass, like that of a rose. Yet its beauty is unstained by thorns and it neither wilts nor dies. It is a crowning jewel, glowing ruby, emerald, and sapphire, casting its luminescent shadow upon those with the gift of standing under its grace.