The glossy, glassy world of the refracted city. Almost the same, but everything is different…
A heady mix of gates, portals, fences, surfaces, and access panels. No two walls the same, no two textures matching… it’s a cobbling-togetherness, a busy, hidden corner in a jumbled street…
On finding myself at the entrance of this rather lovely alleyway, my question was not “Where am I?”, but rather, a somewhat more interesting variation:
What can we see through the square window? Is it the hopes of what’s moving overhead, or is it the past, grounding us? And what’s outside the frame? Choose your own adventure.
We build webs of thick steel to keep the sky out, or to keep us in… careful not to fly too high – you might hit your head.
We live in a city of stories – hundreds, maybe thousands, more and more rising up all the time. Sometimes these stories meet, connect, become chapters of a larger whole. Other times, they simply glide past each other, a moment lost to time.
One of those moments where time seems to pause, seconds stretching out like heartbeats slowing, and the spaces between time rise up, bubble to the surface in a tide of impressionist reflections, warmth, light, and connection. A moment of peace, calm, repose.
Blink and you might miss it, and those tides will never be quite the same again, as each one leaves its tiny marks on the surfaces over which it passes…
We see the sky in segments now,
bordered by glass, concrete and steel,
a glimpse of clouds, a flash of sun.
We are out of time,
out of place.
The leaves are on the ground,
muddy brown and grey;
where was I when they were green?
Where will I go now, to listen
amongst the whispering branches?