Okay, let’s try a post written in the daytime. I usually read and write after 10 p.m. and cyberspace for me is subconsciously associated with the darkness and eerie silence of the light-challenged half of the 24-hour day…there’s a word for that, but I can’t recall it.
So (*looks out the window*)… no sun shining, no blue sky, no warm toasty feeling on my skin. I can’t help but notice how imprisoning my surroundings are. This life in a city that has a high-crime rate and a low-lie rate.
My window is a small 4 by 5 foot rectangle of glass, one half is a fixed pane, the other – those shutter like windows that tantalizing slant but never quite enough to give an impression of being open. And outside that, an old, dusty grill – just incase a bunch of thugs decide they might manage to squeeze through the glass slats on the first floor of a house with no footholds, no pipes and no means to climb up to.
Maybe if there was a cornflower sky and prickling heat, I would feel more restrained, but as it is, that’s winter peeping back at me. And not even mysterious, electric, stormy winter in her maturity. This is just the feeble beginnings. A sickly grey swirled faintly with a pale dirty white. There is neither promise nor threat. Only a suggestion of pallor, an almost-shadow in the atmosphere, a dullness of life.
Maybe writing at night is a better idea after all. I can actually see three stars through my glass-encased view. Yes, I think I’ll definitely come back at night.