Sonate en trio, for flute, viola & harp, L. 137: II. Interlude.

Perfectly cradled in the grandeur of WHOM the mold came from which cast all these images.
Debussy steals my steady heartbeat along with the voices of sleeping, faithful Christians who still remain to speak like the gilt bronze doors in the Baptistry of San Giovanni in Florence. A young Christian still awake, but unconscious and curled up under her blankets a few feet away from me, open book peeking out. The harsh and heavy wind of ice I can see out my window, the sun and the blue are ancient and completely reborn and it tells me who the saints are, who I am, who I AM is that we love.