I took a walk in London on a bitter cold January night. A half-moon watched in the black sky as I approached St. Paul’s Cathedral from the side and stopped on a lonely dark narrow sidewalk. With hands in my pockets and coat scrunched as high as possible to my ears, I stood and shivered and considered the shining dome and spotlit frozen statues on this, the fifth church on the site and tallest building in London until 1962. Occasionally, an empty red London bus whizzed by punctuating the frozen columns.