TheSteffers
suburbs, pt 1
It’s not the city. It’s not the country. Nor is it a synthesis of the two, though the suburbs are often passed off that way. They are, rather, a thing of their own. They are marked by their own characterless culture, molded by their own insipid architectonics, ruled by their own banal social norms.
But beauty has a way of slipping the leash, and nature has no regard for rules. City ordinances can regulate the location and color of hydrants, but not the way we look at them. Community planners can plot out the streets and sidewalks, but not who uses them. Neighborhood committees can dictate the planting of trees, but not the way the leaves fall.
There is beauty to be found even in the most bland suburb. It may go unrecognized, it may be unappreciated, and it may be transitory, but it cannot be prevented. Soon the leaves will be raked up and placed in a bag made of recycled paper and left at the curb on Tuesday night to be quietly collected the following morning…but for now a rebellious splash of color has infiltrated the neighborhood, and it will be seen by those who have the eyes to see it.
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