September twenty sixth

September twenty sixth. Yesterday, I jogged from my house to the department in the morning for class. Near downtown, I passed a large hotel, with its windows glinting in the early slanting sun. There were cars moving on the street. Down the road, the dew-washed parking lot of a church stood in the shadow of the spire. As I looked at this scene I suddenly knew why I miss living in a large city. It is the certain knowledge of the existence of unknown spaces beyond the visible scene that makes me love cities. With a city, its intimacy with your senses can never end and can be advanced effortlessly to successively deeper levels. Not so with smaller spaces, where purely sensory possibilities are exhausted faster. When I looked at the church spire, I had a sad feeling of the certainty of what lay beyond. I jogged on.