I love to consider the grand and the mundane and how they sit adjacent to one another at times. I am odd to be sure yet I also am very aware that I’m not that unique and so it’s possible my thoughts on this are mirrored by many souls on this earth so I dare not take credit for any originality here. Instead, I simply want to talk about what happens when I witness a confluence of the ethereal and the common and the ache that fills my heart for beauty at such a sighting. How can I describe what I mean? It is the image of a large concrete bridge reaching high across a valley yet somehow still dwarfed by the pale grey beauty of the midwestern sky. Or it is a crumbled stone wall running through a green field under the midday sun. Or perhaps one of my very favourites? Power lines stretching across the dusky sky, powerfully black and strong against the pale golds and purple of the beckoning sunset. Oh I can’t help myself. One more. What is it that makes the heart ache near to bursting to see a tree bare-branched against the grey of early winter sky, the faded sidewalk underneath half-covered by fallen leaves? There is something to this, I do believe and I cannot quite put in words the feeling that rises in my heart as my eyes rest upon this bridge in front of me, this bridge constructed oh so long ago as testified to by the rusting railing yet a mere youngster compared to the ancient witness of the heavens? The grey sky cradles the bridge in its arms and nods down upon it tenderly. There is a symmetry and a piecing together of created works and both sing in harmony of glory, glory, glory. The trees shout and the waves bow down and I still my heart in hushed wonder at the hint of the revealing that is yet to come. I rest my hand upon the crumbling bricks that make up this old apartment block and smile to see the golden grasses growing up at the base of the wall. I whisper the doxology to myself and shudder in anticipation.