If I'm hoping, then I'm hoping for the frost
I am feeling non-stop terrible. I took a couple of pictures in the snow-fallen sunshine this afternoon.
Paperbark maple, peeling in snow.
The sky still too cold a blue for spring.
The dogwood's illusion of shadow.
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spatch sent me a 1957 study of walking directions to Scollay Square. Researcher's notes can be unnecessarily period-typical, but the respondents themselves are wonderful. "You're a regular question-box, aren't you?" It turns out to be part of the basis for a seminal work of urban planning and perception. I like the first draft of the public image of Boston, including its conclusion that it is a deficit to the city not to be thought of as defined by the harbor as much as the river.
Paperbark maple, peeling in snow.
The sky still too cold a blue for spring.
The dogwood's illusion of shadow.
spatch sent me a 1957 study of walking directions to Scollay Square. Researcher's notes can be unnecessarily period-typical, but the respondents themselves are wonderful. "You're a regular question-box, aren't you?" It turns out to be part of the basis for a seminal work of urban planning and perception. I like the first draft of the public image of Boston, including its conclusion that it is a deficit to the city not to be thought of as defined by the harbor as much as the river.
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You see why I was so struck by it! And 1957 was one of the last years you could have asked for directions to Scollay Square and not just been told to look for the giant hole in the ground.
(It seemed rude to class a guy as "probably mentally deficient" just because he was from Maine.)
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