Ruth
« It’s a clear morning. The sky is limpid, glowing, getting brighter rapidly. To start, both windows are foggy, I touch my hand against the glass hoping to rub a clear patch, but the condensation is on the outside. I feel slightly frustrated as the exterior humidity is lost, I am in a fuzzy space.
Then the sun starts to rise. An orange curve pushing up behind a building. Sharply, despite the fuzzy window. It is held behind the basket-like structures of the floodlights, a basket of fire, like an Olympic torch. The condensation disappears as the sun’s rays touch the glass. The view crystallizes. Silhouettes of buildings, plumes of smoke rising vertically, dozens, even hundreds. The city breathes, exhales. The sun goes from orange, to yellow, to pale yellow. I could only look straight at it for a few moments, when it appeared as an orange disc.
Facing west.
It is still foggy, but the sun’s rays have transformed the previously grey city and park. The colors have become rich and deep, greens, reds, silver, gold, chestnut, brick, black, charcoal. I watch two magpies sitting high in the branches of a tree. So high that the branches are more like twigs. The grass of the park below has a tufty texture that is imperceptible at ground level, as if one can see the thousands of feet that pass across it, shaping it. The silver birch trees glow, bunches of silver ropes and threads. How nice to be here at the end of winter, before the leaves are out.
I watch a woman play with her dog. Throwing a tennis ball. The dog bounds with joy. She teases him, pretending to throw in one direction, then suddenly changing her mind. They seem complicit, utterly happy in each other’s company.
What a magical privilege to have had this moment up here, on this beautiful morning. »
Ruth