The window calls to me. “Come, come and see me, see how I entice you outside.”
I take a step nearer, and the window frame disappears outside my line of sight, and the drunken-hexagon windows fade, and the walking man, and the yellow and white boxes – they all vanish from my view and my awareness.
I press my nose to the glass and the outside world compels me, entices me, seduces me. The clouds adorning a wilderness endless sky, the ripples dancing on the water, the boats sitting squat and complacent, the harbour wall embracing them safely – they all sing a siren song. “Come, come and see us.”
In the world of words there are no limitations, none of the barriers of crass reality, none of the prison of mere physics. And so I step through the glass, standing sturdy on air. I practise moving, getting the hang of it, and soon I am moving easily, as if I have a jet-pack but with infinitely more grace. Jet-pack ballet as it were.
I swirl and twirl, enjoying my reflection in the glass of the sloping roof. “You’re there; I’m here!” I shout to her as she twirls and swirls in harmony with me. She smiles back at me, silent but happy, it seems, to see me enjoying myself, or perhaps happy that my presence outside her window gives her temporary existence.
I wave goodbye to her and she waves back, a blessing, a benediction, an understanding that I must move on. I turn and fly towards the boats, and then play slalom with their masts, forming a wake of elegant curves behind me. A gull flies by, and shrieks at me, jealous perhaps that I am usurping her place. Or perhaps that is how gulls say hello.
The air is clear and sparkling and I breathe deeply of it, feeling the refreshing cold all the way to my lungs. The wind of my own flight cools my face. A seal surfaces, drawn perhaps by the gull’s cry, or by the unusual sight of a human sweeping and swooping above him. He dives again. I am not so interesting, it seems.
I turn again and look back at the Harpa building. Its windows gleam diamond in the sunshine, refracted rainbows a kaleidoscope of jewels. Harpa sits low, angular, uncompromising, beautiful in its raw and unapologetic way. I envy that beauty, that confidence.
Something catches my eye: a human figure at the siren-window. I fly towards it and as I draw close I see it is the man. The walking man. He had reached the window, and was now beckoning me, inviting me.
I fly towards him, back through the window, and wafted quietly to a rest before him.
I become aware of music, melodious music.
He says, “Would you like to dance?”