Below is a short piece I wrote about one of my favorite places for a writing class...I like it so I figure why not share it. Especially, since tonight I have had the realization that this "diary" of sorts is on the World Wide Web and people actually may read this.
Los Angeles is a city of things unnoticed. It is a city where on the East side a fuschia truck drives slowly up and down winding roads, selling fruits and vegetables. Locals step out of their brightly colored homes and flag down the driver. They do their shopping for the week, as well as purchase a few indulgences—dried sweetened papaya. Mango-flavored ice cream. Neighbors speak to one another from their front porches and swap stories of relatives still across the border.
Los Angeles is filled with places of quiet contemplation. A fountain garden nestled between two mirrored, glazed buildings in the heart of the financial district. The rushing water drowns out the hectic world bellowing below its third-story perch. An adobe Spanish mission sits at an intersection of busy streets and train tracks. Inside the scent of incense and wax permeates the air. One speaks in a hush when the large gold altar comes into view. The Griffith Observatory commands the valley below. A crux at the front of the building provides a pocket where one can sit and watch the sunset’s orange glow bounce off moving cars, glassy towers and the curling surface of the ocean. There is only the wind. City lights blink back.
No Camp Pies for Whiners
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