For the last couple of years I have found beauty in the grime of the inner city – the constant buzz, the collision of life when you have so many people sharing the same space, the juxtapositions of decay and renewal on every corner.
Life in the suburbs is different – it sings a different song.
On Sunday evening I saw a shooting star (or an alien aircraft on fire). It shot across the night sky, with its tail of gold, red and bronze trailing behind it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sparkly or that sang of joyful freedom so gladly.
Last night the moon was so bright that I seeing by moonlight actually seemed plausible – rendering many an adventure story possible.
I get up so early that I can see the watch the sky transform from a formless darkness to a canvas of orange, purple, blue and pink clouds as the sun heralds in a new day.
There is beauty in the suburbs.
There is also more sky.
Remember the days when the smallest thing was the most fascinating thing ever?
Remember the days when what is now commonplace was o so amazing?
Remember the days when what is now a nuisance was actually something you excited talked about for weeks?
This week I had a twenty minute conversation with an 8 year old about the wonders of flying economy class...
"You have a TV in the seat in front of you! And you can watch anything you like, even Horrid Henry. And there's a thing for your drink by your arm. And tray that goes in front of you like this. And they bring you really good food - two lots of food. Lunch and dinner. And they bring you pillows. And they bring you drinks. And there's even something to put your feet on."
All this from a child I who usually only answers my questions with "Yes" or "No." It's in the detail.
Remember when the world was fascinating?
This week I'm looking into the detail of everyday life to rediscover childlike wonder.