something new to love

I moved into my building about two years ago. It was brand new!! All the dirt came from me me me and my world.

I love every inch of my sunny, top-floor home. I didn't get to choose the apartment but the universe made sure I got the best one. Best for me. Across from my front door, I can see San Francisco and the Golden Gate and Alcatraz and Marin and Mount Tamalpais. And the bay.  I live here. This Midwesterner from the South Side of Chicago can see Alcatraz out her front door. Me?! and outside the windows inside the apartment I see some Berkeley hills, the horizon, the sky, the building next door and my building.

My building has 97 apartments on five floors, with a first floor of retail, and parking below all. So I am perched in the sky. Outside my windows, I see the rounded tower-end of my building, I see glimpses of the rooftop, the photovoltaics, the gardens, the climbing wall on the roof for very little children.

And I see the windows, the lines, the fence on the roof, the gate-y thing on the perimeter of the roof which seems to be part design, part safety.  The windows have a faint tint that changes as the sun moves. The building's walls are buff, a neutral, maybe tan. Sometimes the windows are only reflected sunshine, sometimes I see the white blinds inside or people moving but mostly all my neighbors, and this amazes me, keep the blinds closed. I have never closed my blinds except when I have overnight guests who don't like the sun in their eyes in the morning or worry needlessly about privacy. There is no one up here, the building is well designed so people don't easily see into neighbors homes plus all the neighbors close their blinds. I won't give up a single moment of sunshine or shadow or sky but I do close the blinds when guests ask. Not many guests, few such requests.

I decided, as soon as I moved in, that I would begin each day pausing to love a detail in my view.  I am not limited to one detail. Often I love many.  The tower across the courtyard (my place does not overlook the street, but the interior courtyard and if I weren't on the top, I would not see sky as I lay in bed, sigh I am blessed, aren't I?) . . the tower is a sundial. Each morning, I look at the tower, note where the shadow is, which tells me where the sun is, which tells me the time.  I love the clean lines everywhere. There are lines along the building's surfaced lined up with the window frames, up and down. Not very noticeable. I bet most folks don't see them but I am loving this view forever.  I love the lines of the windows, and, of course, there are several shapes of windows. Mine are the best but they are all lovely.  I never imagined I would fall in love with lines. Sometimes I 'see' these lines as they extent into perpetuity, as sacred geometry. Lines do extend, always, into infinity. It behooves us to note it now and then. We are a bunch of points on a gagillion lines.

Lots of lines.

Oh, the buildilng next door has cooler lines. Their photovotaics are not just on their rooftop:  the architect of that building incorporated the photovoltaics so they look like an awning:  an awning of photovoltaics. The photovoltaics have many lines. I study them. I want to, over time, to have seen every one, loved each one. Plus lines in all the windows and nowadays in buildings, architects put line-y things as decoration.  You don't see gargoyles anymore.  You see metal lines evoking faint memories of building art that has, in a very minimalist way, become decoration.

But last week, after over two years of loving the lines -- I am not mentioning all of the lines. There are lines on the courtyard cement, of course, and on the furniture downthere. Blinds are lines.  -- but last week, I saw the shadow of the five-line railing that is on the edge of the roof above me. I can't see this rialing from my place but late in the afternoon, before the sun goes below the other side of the building, these lines are cast in shadow on my tower.

They were always here. I only began to love them last week. I felt startled, surprised, in the discovery. Oh, so there they are. I knew they were there but never saw them until now. Well, until then. Then. It is dark in this present now:  I only see my bedroom reflected in my windows. I don't see outside now. But I did then.

I know this is a dull essay but the moment when I began to love these newly discovered shadows -- are the real lines if they are only shadow? Of course they are real and of course they do not exist.

These are the best lines yet.

I love them.

I have to actually go up on the roof, look more closely. I don't understand why there are five lines. I think there is a repetition in the shadows, I think the actual railing only has three lines.

These are beautiful lines. They curve around the tower, fading as the tower turns.

I am in love.