The striking thing about the view from my bay window is how mundane it is.
It's the same street I walk up and down on my way to the park.
I use it to travel to the produce store, the preschool and the health clinic.
I can see the decrepit buildings, somehow still around since the 1930s, intermingled with the beautiful luxury balconies of the newer apartments. It's a strange juxtaposition.
The street itself is dirty. There's liter on the ground, the clementines have rotted right off the trees and into sploches on the ground. The traffic is always moving--loudly, rudely.
And yet…
I live on a T intersection.
Between my street and the one adjacent to it, sure.
But also between the building lights and the sky.
The constant traffic and noise from the people inside and out and the serene blue quiet above everything.
So what makes it a beautiful view?
The enhancement of the world around--the dirty ground rises into the buildings all about utility, which host lamps. Lights which glow into the night sky, rising above.
It's the same street I walk up and down on my way to the park.
I use it to travel to the produce store, the preschool and the health clinic.
I can see the decrepit buildings, somehow still around since the 1930s, intermingled with the beautiful luxury balconies of the newer apartments. It's a strange juxtaposition.
The street itself is dirty. There's liter on the ground, the clementines have rotted right off the trees and into sploches on the ground. The traffic is always moving--loudly, rudely.
And yet…
I live on a T intersection.
Between my street and the one adjacent to it, sure.
But also between the building lights and the sky.
The constant traffic and noise from the people inside and out and the serene blue quiet above everything.
So what makes it a beautiful view?
The enhancement of the world around--the dirty ground rises into the buildings all about utility, which host lamps. Lights which glow into the night sky, rising above.