Morning or Mourning?
Two rabbits nibbled leisurely on the sweet stalks of grass on the lawn, as I peered out of the kitchen window.
Wagtails and chaffinches - at least I think that's what they were - dived, climbed and hovered a merry dance in the air. Swallows swooped and skimmed the algae-infested surface of the pond. Another brown bird flitted along the lawn to a soulful dawn chorus soundtrack provided by his flighty friends.
Somewhere overhead, a jet whirred, carrying passengers on their way to a slightly hotter - given that it has been unusually warm here in Ireland - holiday destination. Cotton-wool clouds dappled a blue sky as shafts of sunlight pierced the green trees all around.
In our consumer age, it is not fashionable - indeed, it might be harmful to the economy - to admit to biophilia. That a sense of place and sense of belonging might be an innate human trait is increasingly ignored. If we care about our surroundings, then we might question the 'development' of them. We might have more concern for their ecosystems in which we live.
Increasingly urban populations live increasingly transnational lives, moving anonymously through the stale corporate uniformity of airports, stations, business parks and hotels. Mass development and standardised design leads to urban planners' wet dreams of soulless town and city centres, many with the same chain shops and supermarkets, hollowing out the life from former market towns. Mile-long straight high streets in some areas resemble the worst American mid-sized towns. Thoughtless design and planning leads to alienation and detachment.
Morning in suburbia or the heart of a city is a desensitised experience. It is an ordered, man-made environment of steel, wood, concrete, glass, bricks, plastic and tarmac. We look out the window and see another window, or another house, or many other houses. It is functional and utilitarian, and therefore there is little to inspire or engage with.
The traffic is heavier. There is competition for space to live and for space on the road. Across continents, countries, cities and towns, rush-hour consists of a simultaneous light orchestra of comings and goings. People, goods and metal flow from place to place along ordered channels of movement. It is planned spontaneity across an ordered landscape, in contrast to the anarchy of nature.
Wagtails and chaffinches - at least I think that's what they were - dived, climbed and hovered a merry dance in the air. Swallows swooped and skimmed the algae-infested surface of the pond. Another brown bird flitted along the lawn to a soulful dawn chorus soundtrack provided by his flighty friends.
Somewhere overhead, a jet whirred, carrying passengers on their way to a slightly hotter - given that it has been unusually warm here in Ireland - holiday destination. Cotton-wool clouds dappled a blue sky as shafts of sunlight pierced the green trees all around.
In our consumer age, it is not fashionable - indeed, it might be harmful to the economy - to admit to biophilia. That a sense of place and sense of belonging might be an innate human trait is increasingly ignored. If we care about our surroundings, then we might question the 'development' of them. We might have more concern for their ecosystems in which we live.
Increasingly urban populations live increasingly transnational lives, moving anonymously through the stale corporate uniformity of airports, stations, business parks and hotels. Mass development and standardised design leads to urban planners' wet dreams of soulless town and city centres, many with the same chain shops and supermarkets, hollowing out the life from former market towns. Mile-long straight high streets in some areas resemble the worst American mid-sized towns. Thoughtless design and planning leads to alienation and detachment.
Morning in suburbia or the heart of a city is a desensitised experience. It is an ordered, man-made environment of steel, wood, concrete, glass, bricks, plastic and tarmac. We look out the window and see another window, or another house, or many other houses. It is functional and utilitarian, and therefore there is little to inspire or engage with.
The traffic is heavier. There is competition for space to live and for space on the road. Across continents, countries, cities and towns, rush-hour consists of a simultaneous light orchestra of comings and goings. People, goods and metal flow from place to place along ordered channels of movement. It is planned spontaneity across an ordered landscape, in contrast to the anarchy of nature.
posted by John Reynolds at 6:58 a.m.
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