Two girls in overalls, hair tied back, throwing cream-colored pottery on the wheel in their garage. A construction worker asleep on the job (or just on someone's porch). A woman working diligently on her laptop in a gingham sundress. A young couple enjoying cocktails in the shade of their deck, sharing a private moment in plain view.
A cookbook, The Food of Portugal, sitting unattended on a sidewalk table, pages browning. A collection of seashells artfully arranged—without context—on a front stoop. Distressed and tattered mauve loveseats on the curb, looking mostly in vain for a new home. Abandoned bikes in the front yard, worn out from a long day of visits to ice cream stands and friends' houses.
Some days, when there's a bit of a breeze and it's slightly overcast and the soundtrack in my headphones is just right, it feels like strolling through a storybook. Ivy climbing up stone facades, technicolor flowers blooming cheerfully, wild rabbits hopping through secret backyard gardens, vibrantly painted doors, tabby cats lounging in dappled sunlight, Little Free Libraries filled with treasures, regal Victorian turrets, the scent of fragrant garlic or freshly laundered sheets wafting out from window screens and hinting at the stories unfolding behind them. Each home its own novel, me making notes in the margins. Even the unpleasant blare of a clarinet or sour note on a piano is rendered oh-so-charming because it means that there's a very determined young person trying in earnest to learn a musical instrument, and you can't not love that. Plus, it's only in passing. If I lived downstairs, I'm sure it would be far less endearing.
My imagination goes wild; the sight of a lush, leafy overhead trellis on someone's deck has me planning dinner parties with red wine and twinkly lights and charcuterie. A stranger's hammock invites me to curl up with a book until I'm lulled to sleep by that gentle rocking motion. A bright purple or pink triple-decker simply has to house an eccentric creative that wears long paisley skirts and has at least 30 houseplants and an art studio in the attic. You see, I'm the type of person that goes to open houses for fun, even when I'm blissfully happy in my current digs. The variety of decor, energies, and room layouts do wonders to inspire me to incorporate new ideas into my own home—or just nail down the specific vibe I'm going for next. So when I can't actually go inside, my brain is more than happy to fill in the specifics based on a few exterior cues.
And in this strange, surreal chapter when my world has become extremely small and travel is largely limited to the places I can walk and drive, there's something to be said for the understated, comforting magic of the world right outside of my door.
