A slow walk off a busy street and, with some surprise, we are brought to tree-lined softness and noisy tranquility. There are families of houses, old and new, those well-tended and some less so. And we can see the connection - perhaps of generations - that keeps people here, to this quiet street so near the bustle and clutter. And we spy the yards, the lawns, the driveways, all the ways that the lives we lead are intertwined with inanimate objects.
It's different when you get to the stores near the corner. It goes beyond the difference of form, building materials, scale. These are places that are used, yet there is little sense that they are loved. Oh, they could be, maybe they are. But the feelings are harder to sense. There's more going on even if there's less attachment.
Still a doorway is a doorway, no matter where it leads.