It had stormed during the night, and the streets were still wet—the morning air soft and grey and glowing. I passed the reflection of a brick building facade, gold against a bleached sky—an inverse world held within the long puddle running down the gutter of West 19th street. I lingered, leaning over to look down into its heights, trying to see more. I took photographs with my phone.
As I walked home, I now saw everywhere these fallen mirror shards— of sky, of tree-branches, of rooftops and cornices and roosting pigeons, all flowing beneath my feet; pools of water breathing bright windows into the sidewalk whispering hints of a greater symmetry. A mundane miracle: light and air animating dirt and stone. Through floating cigarette butts and motor oil rainbows, pockets of eternity flashed like truth.
Taking inspiration from reading:
Icons of Breath: Space, Sound, and Human Consciousness in Byzantium
V. Pentcheva, Stanford University