A feeling completely different from the one I had last night driving over Cambie Bridge. One was getting used to the unnatural sprouting forest of display-glass condo towers in Yaletown, but in the middle of the bridge I noticed that another branch of this forest was marching North and West from the former Olympic Village. And looking East one could see the first saplings starting to cross-hatch the sky on the horizon. Crossing the bridge, I felt surrounded by an almost solid wall of people stacked in these human parkades. Even the escape West towards the Ocean looked difficult since seemingly guarded by the advance of highrises up the ramps of Burrard Bridge. A short moment of claustrophobia was extended driving along Smithe through the checker-board of Downtown, where almost every square now had the maximum number of permitted highrises. While the regular grid pattern of the luminous highrise windows being extended over the grid pattern of the city had an almost artistic quality, a thought forced itself in my mind that was first articulated by Yusuf Islam (the former Cat Stevens): "But, Where do the children play?" Poor man! He felt the need to write this song in 1970. What must he feel singing it today? After all, Cassandra's curse would not have worked without her gifts.
Seems some of that people-phobia was also felt by the seagull visiting the balcony at 7 am: While previous visitors had shown no fear or hesitation going after food, this one evaded the first tossed blueberry as if under attack, but took heart (probably after catching it a few floors below) and came back to the railing. However, it would not go after the blueberries rolled onto the balcony floor until I had closed the sliding door and it could see me sitting at the desk in the room again.