Cinders and Sparrows

by Stefan Bachmann

A beautiful stained-glass skylight dappled everything in petals of blue and green light, and every inch of the space below was filled of wonders: I spotted an aquarium filled with fish that seemed to be on fire. A golden cage in which slumbered a fuzzy, purple-winged moth the size of a small dog. A table covered with ingenious contraptions and bottles and curling glass tubes. I wandered, awestruck, past a sumptuous globe, taller than I was, with many little black crosses piercing its crust. Some were solitary, far out among the wastes and woods, but most stood in huddles around cities and towns. And when I looked up, I saw bookshelves, rising foot after foot, breathtaking cliffs of stories and secrets going all the way to the roof. Even the pillars were filled with books, little brass pegs running up them so you could reach the highest shelves.