The Weight of Glass

We build upward to escape the earth. We stack stone and steel, layer upon layer, until the ground is a memory and the sky is merely a ceiling we have not yet reached. There is a coldness in this height. It is a vertical silence, a place where the wind does not carry the scent of soil or the dampness of the sea. We look out from these high windows and see only the repetition of our own ambition, a grid of light that mimics the stars but offers no warmth. We are told this is progress. We are told this is how we conquer the night. But when the lights flicker and the city hums, I wonder if we have simply constructed a more elaborate cage. Does the height make us see further, or does it only make us smaller against the dark?

Joy Dasgupta has captured this feeling in the image titled Concrete Jungle. The towers stand in a line, waiting for something that never arrives. Do you find comfort in the glow, or do you feel the distance between the windows?