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12/24/2021
4 years ago
General
“When you shall say, "As others do, so will I. I renounce, I am sorry for it, my early visions; I must eat the good of the land, and let learning and romantic expectations go, until a more convenient season." — then dies the man in you;” - Ralph W. Emerson
On Christmas eve, I went with my grandpa to Midlothian, a 40+ minute drive away, to deliver a Christmas present. I've said before how I appreciate the beauty of suburbia, and this is one of the few times I've stepped out of that, to the outskirts of the metroplex, just as strange as the inner heart and brain. I'm more familiar with the bones and muscles; this was the skin.
Quite immediately it hit me seeing less and less houses all cooped up together and broken up with strips and roads. More expanses of tall yellow grass. Another curious thing about the landscape was the trees. I rarely see junipers like the ones I was seeing more and more. They looked like a cross between any shrub and a Christmas tree. Some looked like Christmas trees that had been fed a dozen turkeys and McBurgers a day for a month. Less and less deciduous and broadleaves, too. Very few by the time I went through the town part of Midlothian.
In the skin of the metroplex, every portion of cultivated human-made nature becomes isolated. There were suburban-looking patches; a trailer-and-home patch, a walled patch of rows of identical homes that would fit in any suburb. But these were patches, separated by vast tracts of land. Seas of yellow and grey grass, broken up themselves by the sporadic juniper, and some shades of green grass here or there, maybe. Another feature, absent from the wider city, is the industrial portions. The steelmill in particular made me quite happy. Like a castle, it towers over the landscape in its grey-white concrete, tall towers connected by wires that offer some nicely complexity, and smoke strangely coming out the smokestacks but always the same shape. Very picturesque. The more we went, however, crossing the thin railroad upon which the orange train rested just a dozen feet from us, the more junipers we came across, as they began to engulf the landscape.
Country living is strange. These were to be homes nestled within a forest broken up into seas of yellow behind fences, all turned someway to a thin road. The homes were often far away from their mailboxes, the home we were going to completely invisible within a wood. Huge acreages, some wooded, some not. Cows here, goats there. One home was decorated for Christmas. They utilized their closeness to the road to its fullest extent, laying an assortment of characters and lights and scenes at all of the eight or so buildings. A haystack had about eight goats on it. They were cute.
It is certainly a break from the even and cozily spaced concretes and homes of the suburban plane. The evenness here was spaced out drastically, individualized and stark. I love all the forms of human habitation. There's a beauty to each. But I wish I could see all the types more easily.
I hope you all had a merry, merry Christmas. 83
Quite immediately it hit me seeing less and less houses all cooped up together and broken up with strips and roads. More expanses of tall yellow grass. Another curious thing about the landscape was the trees. I rarely see junipers like the ones I was seeing more and more. They looked like a cross between any shrub and a Christmas tree. Some looked like Christmas trees that had been fed a dozen turkeys and McBurgers a day for a month. Less and less deciduous and broadleaves, too. Very few by the time I went through the town part of Midlothian.
In the skin of the metroplex, every portion of cultivated human-made nature becomes isolated. There were suburban-looking patches; a trailer-and-home patch, a walled patch of rows of identical homes that would fit in any suburb. But these were patches, separated by vast tracts of land. Seas of yellow and grey grass, broken up themselves by the sporadic juniper, and some shades of green grass here or there, maybe. Another feature, absent from the wider city, is the industrial portions. The steelmill in particular made me quite happy. Like a castle, it towers over the landscape in its grey-white concrete, tall towers connected by wires that offer some nicely complexity, and smoke strangely coming out the smokestacks but always the same shape. Very picturesque. The more we went, however, crossing the thin railroad upon which the orange train rested just a dozen feet from us, the more junipers we came across, as they began to engulf the landscape.
Country living is strange. These were to be homes nestled within a forest broken up into seas of yellow behind fences, all turned someway to a thin road. The homes were often far away from their mailboxes, the home we were going to completely invisible within a wood. Huge acreages, some wooded, some not. Cows here, goats there. One home was decorated for Christmas. They utilized their closeness to the road to its fullest extent, laying an assortment of characters and lights and scenes at all of the eight or so buildings. A haystack had about eight goats on it. They were cute.
It is certainly a break from the even and cozily spaced concretes and homes of the suburban plane. The evenness here was spaced out drastically, individualized and stark. I love all the forms of human habitation. There's a beauty to each. But I wish I could see all the types more easily.
I hope you all had a merry, merry Christmas. 83
