Staring down at Eglinton West

without; see previous

It's different when the sun's out. I only come here after midnight.



Looking down from the southmost bridge, my eyes follow the train tracks beneath as they roll into the conrete and glass mouth that gapes in the hill below. The grassy slope of the hill is split in two by the stepped and layered structure buried inside, and the tracks lead deep within it. To the left and the right, the wings of the Allen curl outward to embrace this hollowed mound. Here, just north of the station, I'm close enough to see inside, far enough that it's another world.



I like the watch the subway cars rumble and screech through the stylized gate to the world below, a constant stream of hissing and shuddering directly beneath me. I like to listen to the cars rush past on the flanks, bright white spots to one side matching glowing red pairs to the other. I like to watch the hilltop, where the busses stop for passengers, blue lights added to the rest with the Tower as their backdrop. So busy, yet so impersonal, everyone so ultimately detatched inside their moving metal shells.



There's no one going past where I am, watching, above, alone, with the wind in my hair. It's still and quiet here.

Author's Note

from the Toronto years. A very real place, if you walk those roads
see Subway Station for within

Reviews

[Joli Dy]

I'd love to be invisible with you in this industrial space that unexpectedly offers quiet and solace. If I close my eyes tightly enough, I am there with you in the ghost of our past. I miss you.