There’s something about the way the light hits the buildings as the sun rises in the morning. When in daytime the light surrounds them as they stand proudly, as if immortal, at dawn they capture the light against the dark skyline as it fades away into obscurity. That is, it’s discordant with the nature of things, an imposition. Were there not any loud shards of glass upon the horizon, I would simply see the night sky fade away in perfect harmony with the day—yin and yang.

But instead our structures, interruptions of the flow of nature as they are, and which so often grant me the illusion of security, are unmasked as our desperate attempt at control, our attempt at self-alienation from the world we have flippantly regarded as hostile to us. Are we so conceited to believe that this world is concerned with us at all?

Mother Earth, as we call her, is neglectful of her children. The sun and moon will rise and set on her over and over again until long after our civilisation is but dust. In this cosmic dance, we’re naught but a third party. Only, in all our time here, I can’t help but wonder whether we sincerely took notice of it at all.