The view seemed to explain it all. Window panes framing tiny dots on a large landscape. The darkness accentuated the silence, and all we could see were the tiny city lights. Millions of them. We were sitting on the 28th floor of the building, which made things seem more insignificant than usual. Far far in the horizon, the gulf waters blended into the sky... It was serene. And something in the inconsequential scheme of things, made us feel at peace. Her tiny head bobbed onto my shoulder and we stared out into the empty sky.
We imagined what the drop from the horizon would feel like if the world were flat. We imagined God with an eye patch. We imagined what it would be like to fly out of this sky scraper, and whether we'd use a broom to do that or not. May be we'd touch the clouds? But the desert that day had a clear sky. God's shining third eye gloating over miles of sand... is he really everywhere? She seemed to believe so, and she convinced me of the same with sincerity. At six, there's only so much you expect of God and Santa Clause.
But we were both, just sitting there. Perfectly at peace. The sheer massiveness of the inexplainable cosmos seemed to represent itself before us... with all those flickering city lights, and all engulfing horizon... just for that moment, I felt that sense of belonging to organised chaos, and incomprehensible mayhem. At least, that's how I'd attempt to quantify that sinking yet peaceful feeling. I wonder what it was in her, though.
Here's a glimpse of the same view, at day time.
