There’s something about windows. In the words of Quentin Blake: You see, I don’t draw from life at all, but I do look out of my window a lot.
A window is alluring as it secures and gives us a view. What we access through it may have varied overtones: a life away from life, the blossoming beyond our reach, frightening us as much, high altitude and back.
Windows to a soul (Photo Challenge). Witty and attitude (Daily Prompt).
My legs shivered. I feared that the glass would break.
But a note that was written on the wall in bold letters THIS GLASS FLOOR CAN WITHSTAND THE WEIGHT OF 14 LARGE HIPPOS redbulled my limbs. A dozen-plus hippos might not be heavy after all, and tragedy could happen – went the thought in my head. My moist palms.
It was sunny that morning, but Toronto trembled in the December chill. The observation deck of CN Tower with this straight down view could terrify even those without acrophobia. The glass floor was 1,122 feet above the ground.
I walked baby steps, but some children ran the length of the floor. I stepped on to a side, and squatted, placing my hand on the glass. My sweaty palm left cold trails on the glass.
You are safe: 256 square feet of solid glass – five times stronger than the standard required weight – should be the only thought in your head.
I captured this image of the Spirit House, which was a hall of intrigue and in it were myriad story possibilities, at Michael Lee-Chin Crystal, Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto.
Daniel Libeskind – the architect of Freedom Tower in New York City – designed Lee-Chin Crystal, also designing some of the chairs in the House.
The stainless steel chairs held a glossy rhythm with the crystalline surrounding. From the center of the house one could see in the arch above an interwoven pattern of concrete, which linked exhibit spaces with elevators, speaking of conflicts and order in stories.
This nighttime picture of Balzac’s, which is a sought-after coffeehouse in the Distillery District, Toronto, shows faded brick walls, stylish chandelier, high ceilings, and a lit window; but what transpires below on the first level, among a crowd of people who’re chin-wagging and tittle-tattling while sipping the in-house roasted coffee, may be hard like the brick, classy like the chandelier, empty like the ceiling, and bright like the window.
It may befit the moment that you (a bitter reflection of your past acts) now realize how your egotism scared your friends away; how you were certain that one day you’d sit here and sip alone with no one to talk to. The lone you now glances up hoping that some day things might change, for you wish to maintain the status quo.
A fellow blogger’s article on suicide in Niagara Falls An Open Letter To The Lost was well received. I loved the piece so much that it lingered in my mind for days and yesterday, I began looking for the pictures that I’d taken when my wife and I were at the Falls.