sky person
One of my sisters-in-law calls me a 'sky person' because I live high up in the sky. My apartment on the 15th floor of a downtown highrise faces south to the sun and Lake Ontario. From my desk I can see the dark blueness of the lake rule a straight, infinite horizon against the paler blueness of the air.
The sun shines and reflects hard off shoreline ice as the Toronto Islands lie still, the trees in winter brown. To my right is a spectacular view of the Toronto skyline, more spectacular at night when it glistens and glows. To my centre and left, I am higher than the other buildings, and everything leads to the water.
When I moved here from Windsor to attend Ryerson, I had two days to find a place within walking distance to school. When I found this place, I knew I had a balcony, but was not even aware of which direction I faced. I was happy it was clean, and no more expensive than residence, and that the building appeared secure. The view was an unexpected gift.
Today I awoke to the sound of children laughing. An empty hole south of my building has become an elementary school, after two years of dusty, cacophonous construction. The harsh, endless sirens of downtown life are muted and lost, and the laughter carries up and across, softening the cold, winter edges and urging spring.
Being a sky person is akin to sitting in a favourite tree while young, being rooted to the earth but so close to flight.
The sun shines and reflects hard off shoreline ice as the Toronto Islands lie still, the trees in winter brown. To my right is a spectacular view of the Toronto skyline, more spectacular at night when it glistens and glows. To my centre and left, I am higher than the other buildings, and everything leads to the water.
When I moved here from Windsor to attend Ryerson, I had two days to find a place within walking distance to school. When I found this place, I knew I had a balcony, but was not even aware of which direction I faced. I was happy it was clean, and no more expensive than residence, and that the building appeared secure. The view was an unexpected gift.
Today I awoke to the sound of children laughing. An empty hole south of my building has become an elementary school, after two years of dusty, cacophonous construction. The harsh, endless sirens of downtown life are muted and lost, and the laughter carries up and across, softening the cold, winter edges and urging spring.
Being a sky person is akin to sitting in a favourite tree while young, being rooted to the earth but so close to flight.
posted by Kathy O'Brien at 12:34 pm
2 Comments:
Beautiful. Nice description.
aaaahhh, that's nice to say, thanks.
Post a Comment
<< Home