Suburbia

Suburbia is an interesting idea. A place where people live so close together but spend time trying to forge their own spaces and identity. A conundrum of pushing and pulling. When the streets are empty and no one is around a feeling sets in. This is different for everyone. The lone light from the front window, the smell of dinner cooking or the distant bark of a dog but no real indication that anyone is around. 

I love finding beauty in the mundane. The simplicity and familiarity of suburbia is what makes it sing.

This poem by Shel Silverstein is one of my favourites. Beautiful, child-like imagery that speaks to me, especially the "peppermint wind". 

Where the Sidewalk Ends 
Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.


Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.


Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.