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The green highways of Northern Virginia
I’m in a hotel in Northern Virginia this time, and am negotiating its large highways on foot; ten years ago, I was visiting a residence, and not really going anywhere much. So I had not been subjected to its large highways any way other than how God intended them to be encountered—out the car window.
So I’m warming less to the place than I had on previous visits; this is a work visit, and on the perfunctory side.
Still, especially around the grounds I am at, there is an delightsome orgy of green, of trees that are not threatening and peeling, but soothing and sensible. The gaps in the concrete in Irvine make it look like the scrubland is threateningly poised to take back over. The gaps in the concrete here make it look as if the forest has already staked out its niche, and is more at ease with its urban neighbours—more humane.
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At least, that’s what it looks like from N. Beauregard; walking down S. King, it was as much a jumble of big buildings out of place as anywhere else.