The world is shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. I can see the cracks growing wider and wider on the stained glass windows. The colored dust grows in piles all around me. Higher and higher until it covers every surface in glinting, glittering shards. Like snow they drift down, down, down until they freeze into blades of frost. The wind whistles through the window as the glass crunches under my feet. The sonorous music of frozen beauty still plays in my ears and in the building, but for the first time the lilting melody drifts outside. And the view. Oh the view makes me wish for the wings of the birds who fly above this world of broken pieces.