Straight lines are man-made, and they are all around us.
If you’ve followed my blog or know me at all, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I see myself as a Nature Girl. I don’t do Man-Made stuff if at all possible; I don’t seek it out, I don’t photograph it, I don’t buy it. But of course, that’s a delusion, really. I live in a house built with right angles, and I sell books which are usually rectangular. I am surrounded; I had best make peace with angles. Sharp, rigid, dogmatic angles. Plumb-lines and cages.
* peace *
(Wow, I can be judgmental.) Okay, horizons and vanishing points, inclines and steps. I don’t know if I will ever call them “beautiful”, but I can see that they are useful and interesting.
I glance out my window and see feathery frost, reminding me that snowflakes and crystals are made of straight angles. And my ego is made up of attachments and aversions.
I loved Geometry. As a freshman in High School, I was brand new to California and scared to death. I sat in the front row of Mr. Duport’s class and paid close attention. He was young and funny, and his students liked him. He made the classroom a comfortable place. He wrote in my yearbook at the end of the year how he enjoyed seeing me change into a sociable girl who talked to her classmates and spent less time with her head down in her proofs. I met him again at the 20th class reunion, and he remembered me fondly as smart and interesting…although perhaps that enthusiasm was aided by a few drinks. Anyway, Jim Duport, thanks for the memories.