The landscapes are rapidly changing without notice, and it's on the few drives I make through the city each week that these changes scream at me as if I should have been paying more attention. A sense of stability and a never-ending summer youth have sprung in my life since I've moved to Cabbagetown. The constant construction on Dekalb Ave and elsewhere in the city are easily forgotten until I make my weekly trips to the allergist's office in Buckhead.
This morning on my drive back from the traffic congested northern parts of the city, I passed a few older haunts of an area I used to dwell. Large "mixed use" complexes, which only now look like massive communist architectural style cement erections, rise high amidst the single story tall small strips of restaurants and shops that change faces every few years. Two of three in one section have closed their doors, and on one's marquee it reads, "I love to say hello but I hate to say goodbye."
A dear friend is beginning a hike on the Appalachian trail this Sunday. He will walk to New York where he will make a new home. I currently live in his old room; Aly and I have filled the void in this house, but Este will be missed.
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