At first, you cannot see them. There is too much else to see, to smell, to step around, too many faces, too much inexplicable happiness, too, too colourful. The mind wanders, the eye feasts on the standing, running, pushing, pulling, grinding, the chaos, the beautiful, the beyond words.
Then you go deeper in, further from comfort, home, hotel. Into the narrowing streets, the crowd and the crush. Your eyes try to rest, to escape. You look up, seeking the open, the sky.
And find wires. A sky of wires. Like never imagined. Wires coming from here, looping to there, colliding, knotted, hanging, desperate, incomprehensible, thin, thick, huge, straight, curved, twisted, looping, dangling, loose, tight, stacked, grey, black, crisscrossing the sunset, a blot.
A palimpsest of wires, layered; prehistoric wires, tomorrow wires. Obsolete wires, dirt road wires side by side with new and current and humming four-lane wires. The wires of internet 101, the wires of the day electricity came, the wires for the Important Man Down the Street, the wires that run the TV in the bar next door, the wires that fire the bare bulb in the perfume store, the wires that used to be connected somewhere, to an idea
Now the sun is down. The lights are on. The street glows; the wires fade once more from sight. In the warm night light, the eye feasts once more.
story © Dianna Carr images © Francis Tremblay