In the heart of downtown Toronto, a strange and unsettling sight unfolded before my eyes. It was mid-afternoon, and I was walking between two imposing buildings, one of which was the grand, gold-clad Royal Bank. The space between them wasn’t a typical alley but rather a spacious garden atrium, a surprisingly peaceful public area amid the city’s hustle.
As I moved along, I glanced upward without slowing my pace, drawn by the towering presence of the Royal Bank building. Something about looking up amid the looming urban canyon always gave me an odd, almost dizzy sensation. That day, my gaze caught something else—a grey, saucer-shaped craft hovering silently above the space between the buildings, just a bit higher than the Royal Bank.
The craft was unlike anything I had seen: no lights, no markings, and its dull, matte metallic surface absorbed the daylight rather than reflecting it. It hung there suspended, immobile for several seconds. My mind initially refused to process the reality, and I looked down, concentrating on where I was walking. But after a brief moment, my curiosity triumphed, and I looked back up.
The craft was still there, quiet and enigmatic, and then, as if deciding its moment had passed, it ascended swiftly and disappeared from view within a few seconds. The encounter lasted barely fifteen seconds, yet the image remains etched in my memory—a mysterious silver disk defying the ordinary, a fleeting glimpse of something altogether unexplainable high above Toronto’s familiar streets.