The view from my living room window.

It's Saturday morning and I'm listening to Joni Mitchell, the queen of sweet mornings. The sky outside is covered in blue and grey, positioned in intersections, once there being larger lines of clouds than sky and vice versa. From the corner of my eye I can see a church steeple with a rather impressive black clockface set in to its stone facade. Next to this Victorian behemoth stands a monstrous red brick modern apartment block. Its roof is the colour of surgeons outfits in ER; to focus simply on the steeple I find too difficult and must look away. Directly in my eyeline is the slanting rooftop of the building next to mine. Many a day have I sat and watched birds land there and precariously walk up and down the length of it, much like a widow on a widow's walk, looking, searching, waiting.
From the end of this roof begins the skyline of East/Central London. The Gerkhin, as Londoners viciously call it, stand erect, yes, like a penis, or perhaps like a machine that has barrelled it's way through the middle of the earth and chosen this central position to re-surface. Sometimes I think it looks like it's going to take off. That's how odd it's position is on the skyline. Closest to me is the view that can be seen from most of East London - Canary Wharf, the financial district. Some of the tallest office buildings in Europe are as if right next to my window. They are my neighbours, and rather impressive ones at that. At night I can see the lights from the offices and wonder who, if anyone, works that late. In front of those colossi is my little Thames - a small inlet where boats have been moored. Some people live on these yachts and riverboats all year long. At night, when winds howl, I wonder how they can do it with the boats bobbing this way and that with abandon. The expensive blocks of flats next to them signal the new upper middle class of London. A river view is, after all, an impressive feat in such a big city. From my window I can see 6 trees lining the water. I know that, were I to look straight down, I would find a few more in front of my building, I rarely stand to look at them and therefore appreciate those I can see from my window.

An incense stick burns scents of dandelion and sandalwood to cover the smell of our new rug and I sit and wait. Wait for the comfort of the weekend to envelop me. Wait for today to open it's many surprises to me.
I find waiting can be good.