The Isle of Glass

Approaching through the dense September morning’s mist, St. Michael’s tower looms dark and brooding in the half darkness on the sunless island. By perception warped and cloaked in misty shroud, the tower seems to scale the sky, a dominant power heralding either doom or just plain power to the traveler coming its way. Its indistinct outlines blurred by the wet droplets in the air and in the eyes make it seem slim and incredibly high, part of the stairs to heaven, a reminder of the Tower of Babel.