Weekend Essay: The Least Romantic City in the World?
Perhaps romance finds us when we’re awake to it and deliberate about our living. I think, maybe, it’s harder to notice its beckoning amid Manhattan’s chaos than, say, in the quiet of a country cabin.
For me, the world is all romance. I look for magic and mystery in the ordinary, find layers of meaning in places they never intended to inhabit, and endow stock moments with significance. See any of my previous columns — especially my latest, Eulogy for a Tree Swing — for reference.
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