Wednesday, November 01, 2006
up against a brick wall
The bike ride to work is beautifully easy. The bike path shoots west in a straight line. Then, a right and a few blocks of weaving between cars and buses and I am there.
The route back is more complicated. Now, in the late afternoon, I begin to have choices. Time is usually not of essence. I meander, backtrack, move in toward State Street, then zip to the alley back of the Kohl’s Center. I am crafting pleasure. With each block I think – was this a good choice? Should have I gone east a little further?
People have a fascination with doors and bridges. I had a t-shirt once with sketched bridges of Cambridge (UK). There are the Paris ones, too. And I have looked at many beautiful posters of doors – on both sides of the ocean. Oh, and windows – I can’t resist them either: with geraniums and lace curtains and old warped shutters. Photographic bliss.
But what strikes me as uniquely pretty on my ride home, as I pedal and weave, are the brick walls. The ones that are like barricades, windowless facades. And yet, someone takes a brush and suddenly, the wall is transformed. No longer a barricade, it now invites. Come in and smell the flowers, listen to the music. Chat us up, lean forward, catch our eye.
The route back is more complicated. Now, in the late afternoon, I begin to have choices. Time is usually not of essence. I meander, backtrack, move in toward State Street, then zip to the alley back of the Kohl’s Center. I am crafting pleasure. With each block I think – was this a good choice? Should have I gone east a little further?
People have a fascination with doors and bridges. I had a t-shirt once with sketched bridges of Cambridge (UK). There are the Paris ones, too. And I have looked at many beautiful posters of doors – on both sides of the ocean. Oh, and windows – I can’t resist them either: with geraniums and lace curtains and old warped shutters. Photographic bliss.
But what strikes me as uniquely pretty on my ride home, as I pedal and weave, are the brick walls. The ones that are like barricades, windowless facades. And yet, someone takes a brush and suddenly, the wall is transformed. No longer a barricade, it now invites. Come in and smell the flowers, listen to the music. Chat us up, lean forward, catch our eye.
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