A summer evening, and the sound of piano spilled from the open front window. It was skilled playing, confident. I pedaled past slowly, the music zooming in then out. I was left wondering: who was playing, were they a performer of some kind, putting in the hard yards of daily practice?
I’d always liked the little yard to the front of this house, its bristling cumquat tree splayed against the wall, festooned with bulbs of bright orange fruit, the pretty wrought grill on the window, the wild sprays of salvia and lavender bursting through the palings of the fence. The music seemed of a piece with this happy, slightly romantic aesthetic. It seemed a welcoming place, a place in touch with a simple beauty. The music reminded me too of the way the more compact private spaces of these streets force a sense of shared space and communal contact. People’s comings and goings, their music, the smell of their cooking, the scent of the flowers growing in the thin strips behind front fences. Everything is close at hand, inviting, shared.
So true Jonathon, much is lost when our houses and blocks of land get bigger. Our neighbours get further away and we see less of them.