A is for Avenue in anticlimatic

Pulling consciousness out of nothing is quite the trick.

Things make sense to look at them, now that we are adults.
But do you remember when everything was just two dimensional shapes?

Back when things happened that made no sense, except- I could assume- to all the strange old people that ran the new world around me, and had been running it before I arrived- which was Forever, as far as I could tell.

The first thing I remember using my own imagination to conjure was based off of some painting in a kids book, or on a schoolhouse mural. It was a vision of a grey clouded sky and a dirt avenue through an overgrown yard or garden full of tall grass and flowers. It passed a small cozy cottage with an open window framed by shutters an an orange glow coming from inside. The path continued in a straight line, beyond the cottage, to a gap in a large hedge that spanned the horizon.

Where did the path go from there? Anywhere/everywhere.

I notice as an adult that those earliest images I was able to cobble together as a budding consciousness out of the ether took on special meaning by virtue of them being My Own. The well earned pride of existing, and thinking, made manifest in meaning via a rich amalgamation of various inspirations taken from the best of what our surroundings have to offer.

I notice that many of my subsequent aesthetic preferences are rooted in these very old memories and young imaginative constructs. When I see the yellow illuminated windows of houses, something strikes me deep- hearkening back to that cottage on the path, and the invitation of warmth within. When I think of Love, a very particular woman as adorable as Miss Bianca or the Irish Mouse from An American Tail yet retains my heart’s desire (she knows who she is).

It’s interesting because we can’t remember what we were thinking when we were infants and toddlers, but really if you think about it- you can kind of figure it out.