It's Monday. A really Monday-ish kind of Monday.
I slog through the day, and am glad my phone doesn't ring and work on some things that need working on and find ways to take my mind off the clock. Some of the time anyway.
I feel better immediately upon being freed from the office. This evening brings mild temperatures again. I walk around and shop, and find the mittens that eluded me yesterday. The walk home in the shining streets heightens my mood significantly. Every inch of the walk gives me pleasure and there are moments I feel like I could cry the city looks so beautiful sparkling and moving and winding itself down under that black sky. I feel the momentum of it, like the clocks and machines in the movie Hugo which we saw yesterday; still resonating with me today, it seems.
Nearly home, I look inside the CBC Broadcast Centre at the beautiful flying man sculputure I look at most days and finally get around to photographing it. It's ethereal; full of lines and mystery and history and shadows and promise and time. As I look through the window while the security guard walks around me checking that all the doors are locked for the day, I'm thinking it looks more so behind the windows reflecting the city street against the black night. Don't you think?
With gratitude, it's beautiful thing #84.
