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WHITE CHAPEL

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I had Notre Dame on my mind - her elemental journey as her roof returned to dust in a towering inferno. Then I passed this little chapel, a flash of broken white through the trees. The great glorious cathedrals of Europe elevate us with an exquisite beauty gilded in the sweat and toil of the poor, and history hangs heavily in their peerless iconography. This pretty chapel seems free from that tormented glory, but who knows what horrors the past held. In an island with so dark a story, the weight of bondage is always there. Perhaps this was sweet solace for the village, more likely a place where plantation owners failed to atone for their mortal sins.

Now sun pours through her demolished roof, painting her walls bright with possibility, and there is liberty in that lightness.

Abandoned by people, the chapel has allowed the jungle to claim her. Ferns grow from her eaves and vines snake slowly through her rafters; birds sleep in her spire, and mice hide in her crevices. As the jungle encroaches, she too is on an elemental trip, exquisitely elevated by nature.

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