Corcovado

The plane approaching Rio sights The God-man on the mountain in the sunlight-- that cold tremor just between the shoulders strikes; we see the arms borne up by love and reaching to the traveler, the city, and the earth. Then from below, the pilgrims mount the heights to see the features of the Cristo...first, the railway, then the stairs climb higher in the quest-- anticipation, breath and blood now pounding in their hearts-- there comes the turning at the parapet to watch the mists brush by his face, gauze curtains breaking to reveal that intermittent, scowling countenance of stone, once emerging in austerity beneath the mallet, now beyond the shadow of Elijah's peak is seen again, and lost, else one would need to look away-- before this stern, and re- transfigured God. The city plays beneath his watch. just as the drama of an immanent, transcendent deity erupts in silent declamation, then to part in a reprise of his ascension in the cloud. ~