Do I have to grab you by the hair to make you look up? An old man of ninety can use the stoop of old-age as his excuse, but you?

I sometimes walk the streets of New Manchester, looking into the faces of people. Or rather at them: their faces are canted towards the ground and scarcely acknowledge the existance of other sentient beings. Their ears caulked with headphones offer them their own individual cotton-wool sanctuary. They have walked this same route to the shop or to their place of work a hundred times and could do with with their eyes closed.

If I am honest with myself, I am guilty, too. Half-awake, half not, I will sometimes stumble along on my own miserable way, narrowly avoiding fast-moving cars and very-stationary lampposts. That’s just lack of sleep taking its toll. I should be more careful.

But look down all your life and it’s not just your line-of-sight which gets low. Look up, remember the sky. Raise your head, and your attitude will follow. You can have no pride without your chin up.

There’s so much to see in my city. But you have to look up to take it in. This place is truly beautiful.