Above me, high in the cathedral’s cloister, five stained-glass windows loomed, each depicting a stone object—the same objects held in the hands of the courtyard statues. A coin, an inkwell, an oar, a chime, and a loom stone. The sixth and final window was centered on the east wall—an enormous rose window, fixed with thousands of pieces of stained glass. Its design was different than the others, depicting no stone object, but rather a flower with five peculiar petals that, when I studied them, looked all the world like the delicate wings of a moth.
