Tuesday, March 18, 2008

ON TOP OF THE WORLD

ON TOP OF THE WORLD
My apartment is on the 22nd floor. I would have cribbed had there not been three elevators in the lobby. Elevators for which one need not wait too long.
From my window I get a bird’s-eye view of Montreal. Not so great, really, because what I see is mainly snow-covered roof-tops. Snow, snow and snow everywhere. Only the main street ahead, Rue Sherbrooke, has been cleared. The rest don’t seem to matter for they are still clogged with snow. The pavements are white, too, several feet higher than the streets. Apparently, the snow from the streets has been shoveled on to the sidewalks. (That’s what made me slip and fall yesterday.)
:(
Way ahead, I can see the horizon. The snow merging into the sky – just as the land had merged into the sea yesterday, from the plane. Somewhere down there is a streak of blue. That must be St Laurence River, so Mapquest tells me. One day, when the snow on the sidewalk melts, I will walk down there. One fine day.

This flat is somewhat bigger than the one I first went into – on Rue St. Urbaine. It has a separate kitchen (but nothing in it, other than a few pots and pans). A queen-sized bed, an easy chair, small dining table with two chairs. Some linen in the cupboard. Enough space for luggage. Free internet access. Not bad!
What I like best is being way up here, on top of the world.
“Consider this and in our time
As the hawk sees it or the helmeted airman:
The clouds rift suddenly – look there
At cigarette-end smouldering on a border
At the first garden party of the year...”
(Auden)

What I also like is the fact that the building has a gym, a sauna, and a pool. So whenever I feel the need for physical activity I can go down and work out. Great! I can do this so long the snow keeps me house-bound!
I shall have my time to myself here.
“And I shall have some peace [h]ere, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.”
(W.B. Yeats “Lake Isle of Innisfree”)

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