When I moved to Ashland, Oregon, I was a very grumpy six-year-old. My bedroom faced the street, and I complained about the streetlight blaring in my window. I think my parents thought this was just a way for me to express my contempt for the new house and the new town, and they were probably right.
A year went by, and I loved my streetlight. "Goodnight, streetlight," I'd say, whispering under my breath so parents or visiting cousins wouldn't hear me and think I was totally crazy (if the personification of stuffed animals, blankets and pillows wasn't enough).
We moved to a different house when I was in the seventh grade. Now, when I drive past my streetlight, I always look up and wish it a silent hello.
The picture above has nothing really to do with my house and my streetlight, but it's downtown Ashland, and you can see some streetlight cousins as examples. My house was a few blocks away, and I spent many hours loitering on the plaza. More on Ashland to come...
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