In the offices behind me, activity, jobs, maintaining the flow of business, for increasing or keeping profit margins, including the wide net of support staff, is fierce. Perhaps it's like the fierce lake with its patches of squall or sun and its endless flow of mist. Everyone works hard and everyone is tired at the end of the day.
I think of letters and numbers, words and money, invisible, flowing, like the continuous traffic on the highways splayed out before me in all directions, transferring, shaping. Do we corrode the landscape with our civilization?
From the Island View Room with its antiques and Persian carpet high in the corporate bank tower the sky is an opague pale grey; it has stopped raining but is thickly overcast.
In the distance the Scarborough Bluffs are lit by sun and look like the white walls of a white city of vision.
How do we fit into the landscape we have so crudely carved?
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Wonderful study in contrasts. It brings back many memories of my own office work: the richness of decor attempting to substitute for the natural world -- where the decor wasn't institutional drab altogether.
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