The Taj Mahal

The morning was cold. Mist hung on grass grayed by the absence of sunlight as I stood huddled in the "Foreign Tourist" line. I was first and I was glad - I hadn't been up before the sun for nothing. As the line grew, the mosquitos gathered to eat it. I wrapped my shawl over my head and from inside my bubble, bowed it trying to remember all the things I know.

I've taken courses on the Taj Mahal - Non Western Architectural History was my favorite. My professor said he has never been more affected by a building. I know that the complex is a perfect exercise in symmetry. I know that the marble used in the mausoluem is so fine it reflects light causing the entire building to glow pink with the setting and the rising of the sun. And I know that - befitting its name, Love's Ultimate Monument - the man responsible for its construction nearly bankrupt his entire empire to see the work completed.

I'm still thinking when the brown clad security guards open the gate and the race begins: through security, into the first courtyard, turn, and - there it sits, a perfectly framed jewel in its Great Gate, step through, and behold.

It's - just - so - perfect