Category: The Friendly City

Let’s go east up the hill today, then north along Jackson Street, on this keen, sharp-edged morning, when it feels good to climb up through the alleys dotted with azure speedwell.

Public space is a border zone, made for everyone and no one.

In the Friendly City, March has many moods. It’s not just that it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, as in the proverb. March is a grab bag of textures, featuring extremes of hardness and softness that seem unrelated, as if they’re happening not at different times but in different countries.

Walk in any direction and you will find them: the frozen children of our town.

A blustery day, blue and silver and black and white. A sky of smoke and metal, constantly in motion, the clouds dark as charcoal in the center but ringed with a blazing platinum glow.

Do you know the entrance to the forest?

I call this slope at Westover Park the Wood Between the Worlds for these qualities: stillness, silence, and symmetry.

Today I’m thinking about the authenticity of little things.