Took the elevator to the top story of DH Hill library earlier tonight… I was looking for members of my church’s college group, but they were elusive. I was determined to revisit the ninth floor again, though, before I left. Stepping off the elevator onto the sterile floor, only my steps resonated through the silence tended by books all around. I could hear the hum of the air conditioners on the floor above me, and their monotony lent the experience a feeling not unlike that of being on an airplane. I walked up to the tall window and cupped my hands around my face to shut out the glare of the overhead lights. My nose touched the cold pane. The gloom of the dark rain gave the scene a glossy contrast, and I could see scattered windows glowing in the night and distant lights blinking through the mist. There was a street corner far below, illuminated by a single street light. Intermittently, cars would curl lazily around the edge of the corner, skishing around the curb, wipers giving a casual flap or two… They emerged from the night into the presence of the light and passed out into forgetfulness just as quickly. I thought about the street corner’s eternal present, destined to pour light into a lonely moment in the rain while many episodes of unknown life drove through unawares. But what could they have done? From their perspective the light was a momentary blessing; it would do neither them nor anything else good to stop, step out into the night, and praise the light, or even to stop at the corner and ponder the blessing in a thankful manner. It’s a trivial thing, really, but sometimes the off moments of life are brought into the light, those moments even the artists overlook and fail to magnify, and in that instant, the profoundly ordinary assumes worlds of hidden depth, and those times we consciously treasure are in turn lifted up even higher…