Today, I emerged from the stuffy interior of my thoughts into a bright morning. The pavements were no longer gleaming and their heaps of hardened snow had lost their rockiness, full of holes and the crystals merging and turning into big drops. The breeze was unmistakably mild. Rounding the corner to the riverside tram stop, I was surprised by warm sun on my face. An incomparable moment: nothing prepares us for the first touch of Spring, and none of the things we normally hanker after is half as good. On the tram, I looked out at the unfamiliar light reflected by the rooftops and steeples.
I’ve always thought of roofs, and specifically chimneypots, against a sunny sky, as one of the best images of freedom. You never look at them if you’ve got to be somewhere in a hurry. Like in a Magritte painting, the effect lies in the contrast between the perfectly mundane architecture and the blue infinity beyond.
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