For many years I had an office in an eight story building on the corner of Pender and Homer Street. It is an old building, with no air conditioning, and so in the summer the windows at either end of the hall are often left open. I have a vivid memory of the day I was sitting in my office in the early morning, and heard a sudden, unexpected sound from the window. I walked carefully down the hall to trace its origin.
A house finch, perched on the fire escape, singing its heart out.
The finch didn't come often, but from time to time his song would float down the halls. The fire escape never seemed quite the same after that; it had changed from an ugly metal safety requirement to a concert hall.
At any given moment the most important space may not be the most beautiful, or the most exciting. It may be the space that is unexpected.
