Low Lights At Night.

In the many years that I've been driving, I find I drive at night as often as I drive during the day. Often times I would go out just for an evening drive, after the sun had set. There's something very peaceful about finding a back road at 1:00 am, driving with the windows down and some soft music playing on the radio.

One thing that often occurred to me while I was driving was the number of large houses that are either hidden behind a wall of trees, or boast only one small light off to the side causing the house to vanish in the dark. It makes me wonder about the kind of people who live in these homes out in the country, nothing but fields of corn and starlight to keep them company in the moonlight. What are they doing at these late hours? Are they off having dinner parties with interesting individuals, or are they downstairs watching a movie with the family. Perhaps they're on vacation somewhere exotic, taking pictures and making memories.

The houses themselves also seem to tell a story. For the ones that are older, more stately homes they echo a sort of geriatric warmth. They have seen families come and go and they act as sponges for these memories. Each knick in the wood, or mismatched wall painting carries with it the story behind it and the family at the centre. The newer, more modern houses could be homes for the newly married looking to start a family. They could be the Fortress of Solitudes for wealthy bachelors looking for a place away from the city to escape their busy lives.

I find that when I drive in the city I think less about these things when I see houses. For some reason homes in the city seem to offer a more functional purpose as residence. Unless they're particularly unique they don't have the same character as homes in the country do. They're like the people in the city, built first and foremost for survival. This doesn't mean they're bland or uninteresting, but there's a quality to them that's very immediate. They function more in a world of "now" and "what's to come", lacking the luxury of "then". Country people live a bit more in the past, like their homes they are vaults of memories and nostalgia. They view the encroaching city as an ill omen seeking to raze their houses and - along with it - their very character.

I am, of course speaking in generalities. There is always going to be different kinds of people in all sorts of living conditions, but the immediate emotional response I get from the front facade of a house sticks with me. I envy those quite, dark houses and the residents within. I envy their apparent sureness in life. They are grounded, and like the foundations of their home they are unmoving and abiding. The porch lights that glow dimly in the midnight light are at once inviting and private.

Or maybe they're just four walls with people fast asleep within.