Cathedral basilica, tip-most top, nearer my God to thee. Turns out there's not a lot who can do this. The old boys are dead, the new ones shoot with a laser and cut with a C and C. But the old tricks still work. Now the scaffolding comes down while Canadians pay Slavs to cut the crockets. I can come home until we're ready to get down on a new level. Cathedrals call for their own time frame, somewhere between an illusion of the eternal and the certainty of right now. Sky and ground. Say around 230 feet or so.