Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-compreheding glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
Philip Larking, High Windows, Lumen 1989
From the apartment where I lived in New York City I took many photographs. It was on a twentieth floor, in the corner of 28th Street and Park Avenue South. There was a balcony in the living room where I could see Lower Manhattan, and from the kitchen’s window, the Empire State Building… at first, overwhelmed by the view, I could not take pictures.
In the windows of the buildings there were no curtains and the blinds were open, it took me a while to get used to seeing others and leting them see me.
But afterwards, they became companions. When I was preparing dinner, I used to look at the office in front of my kitchen’s window, I saw them working, some days at eleven p.m., everything was dark, but in a window a woman’s face was lightened by the screen of her computer.