The Rose Bush and the White Woman
I’ve been wandering the hills above my neighborhood with my camera and a vintage lens. It’s where multi-million dollar homes sprawl among tidy bungalows. The bungalows were built when L.A. began to grow, and this area grew wild orange groves. These houses lie tucked among them, wearing the breath of nearly a century of lives within their walls.
But then there are the mansions. I imagine the people there aren’t very friendly or neighborly, or they feel like they don’t live in a society and shouldn’t contribute in any meaningful way. I want to know why any single-family home should occupy so much space. It’s as greedy as the massive SUVs that sit in their driveways. I didn’t want to sit on my judgment or even recognize I felt it. I wanted to let it pass and not rob me of my joy wandering those tree-lined streets. The wealthy will always be with us, and they’ll always take far too much. Getting mad about it will only waste energy, the energy I’ve precious little to offer.
But today, as I walked up a little street, I felt the presence of a vehicle creeping slowly behind me. I didn’t think much of it. At 9:30 a.m., cars, trucks, and construction made their noise as they navigated one another. I tried to stay out of the way. I turned up a street to find a peaceful…
