“Oh dear brick, I envy your solidity, I envy your enormity. I am simple glass, plain, as though not even there, noticeable only when a stain covers my single surface. I can not even be near you. I can barely touch you through these metal brackets. I can only faintly feel your warmth; only hear a weary whisper of your age old stories. Curse these metal cuffs that bind my heart from yours, curse them for keeping me forever gone from you. You who have stood for thousands of years, as strong now as then, but I am weak and brittle, ephemeral by comparison. I will fall before you, I will break.”
“My sweet sweet glass, do not be so sad for there is indeed so much to you. Thin you may be, perceived by some, but large and tall I call you now. You curse these cuffs, but I love them so. For they are how I know you well. They are gentle kisses in which you send, to warm my cold and hardened skin. If only in the form of whisper, they are still the bridges for my words to be heard. You say you are not seen, but when the earth cries you transform into motioned music. When the earth shines you sing sonnets on my stage. You say you will break, you say you will fall, but in the end we all shall fall. For now, my sweet glass, live, for you stand tall. For now, sing out, for you are who you are. Be with me for now my sweet glass, be with me in joy.”
The question of one thing meeting another often involves more than the original two. It responds by forming something other. As a building meets the ground, there is often a direct explanation of the phenomenon. There could be a subtle incline requiring a half step, perhaps two or three may even be required. There could be a sense of grandeur, demanding a multitude of steps, or even something meant to be hidden forcing a curious progression downwards. All of these relate to a functional relationship of building to ground, however, as said above, there is often an involvement of something other when two things meet. The relationship a building has with the ground responds to the situation in which it is set, in this case to the city’s milieu. And visa versa, the milieu of the city alters the relationship the ground has with a building. There is constantly changing and altering dance being performed between the marriage of the city to the building. One gives life to the other and the other to it; as a building meets the ground it breathes and we breathe with it.
“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” -Winston Churchill
Old upon old upon old. Through the weary stone, mortarless brick, and cracked wood delicately cradling panes of glass, a collage of time folds together to make a building. A building falls on another, gently touches one, molds to another, and lingering stories of past and present wear together, writing a city of old. This one is filled with stories, added over time by those with a bellowing cry, those with only a subtle whisper, and those finding their own in between. Each has a milieu to offer, and a song to sing for this book of old. Old upon old upon old. I will call it Rome, as it is said in past stories. But when I have a story to tell I will have my own name for it. For now, I will listen to the tales of a city called Rome.