The clouds, grey and streaked, didn’t fill the sky but they might as well have. The sun was nowhere to be seen, though the sky seemed endless. The horizon between the buildings was vast and seemed unreal. “How long has it been since he was last out of sight of mountains?” He asked himself. He couldn’t remember.
If he walked a few blocks to the east he would catch a clear sight of the water. That was the opposite of the mountains he was used to: flat ever changing and open. You could imagine running away into the sea or ocean. You could make space there, feel free as you moved, not trapped. Like rolling hills he never sees. But mountains: men are not eagles, so mountains are difficult. You can flee into the mountains and get lost. Lost is exactly what it is too. Unable to be found but struggling to find a way out. Always hemmed in.
The buildings were not like that. You could escape into them, go around them, see past them. In most cities you could feel free despite the apparent obstacles.
As the clouds took over more of the sky, he felt his pocket again: just to make sure. His glasses were still not there. He didn’t miss the yellow tint everything seemed to have these days, but the blue of these lenses, without the sunlight, left everything grey. If that dull yellow was decay and corruption, like puss, the grey was boredom and depression. But it was better. And blue was like Miles: detached, cool.
With a glance, the watch, which spoke to him far too often, told him that he had no time. No time to get his glasses; no time to walk to the beach; no time to say hello, goodbye…
So he turned east and walked without meaning but with a meaningful walk.
When it came into sight, he could breath. The salt in the air cleared his head. The grey and white of the waves pulsating up and down blended into the grey and white of the sky that slip across above it. Soon it was all he could see.
