This past week has been illuminating, from the slow glare of lit street-lamps to the suns refraction below the surface of water, every body of light has provided a new vision of the city’s landscape. If you take notice, for long enough, of a single space, your perception will bend enough to implant a fraction of your own self, making all that is familiar lazily unfamiliar but ready for dissection.

For example, here across my balcony you can see the backdrop of the city and at night the lights fall and turn in and out of the distant buildings and structures. If I watch for long enough each flicker of light will grow increasingly painful to witness but for even longer and the light will calm me, then I will hear the silence of it all and feel uplifted.

For some, however, the constant glow offers up no moment of peace. This city was built some twenty-seven years ago, carved out from the natural landscape around and after a long time the animals, which had long fled back to the sanctuary of nature due to the construction, would return. They would return to a conjured reality, a reality in which cruelty and humiliation were tools to be used for gain and since this return would find themselves stranded out here, among the cardboard movement of the population and the pressure of hot concrete.

One story I heard this week seems unshakable, so much so that it has become an obsession, a consistent flash of distraction and pain impacts my skull at the very notion of replaying such event but it needs words.

A small child is walking out down by the park, the heat is mild due to the rain moving in from the north but — the heat — is still noticeable. He stops suddenly, exhausted, I believe he has spent a long time walking out here alone, and sits down on a patch of dry earth. Just when the boy starts to pray for a stranger to come along and rescue him from his confused state a small, red and gold, bird floats down next to him.

“I don´t want to be here, like you. The ground is dry, the air hot and the earth is filled with monsters. My mother flew away, my father is a shadow and my brother is lost. Time moves on but turns like a screw in my beak”. Just then the small creature started to cry.

The boy seeing the complete suffering of something so beautiful broke down. Then he stopped, stood up, bent down, picked up the bird and placed her gently into his shirt pocket.

“We´ll walk for a long time, just me and you, I have no promises that we will make it out alive but as long as I keep walking with you in my pocket at least you can rest you head”.