Holes were dredged to get us here. Mortar had to set. Light from the sun and floodlights shone on the ones who ground the paste, who worked at a pace both measured and quick. Art is everywhere. Beauty is in everything. We, too, are busy. We think it all important. We hollow out the hallowed walls, looking for something - some talisman, some fire. Sometimes there is nothing to be found. But nothing, of course, is something.