A season unlike any other, rife with the exuberant happenings of life,
Standing alone in the annals of others with the same generalizable label,
A summer of love in traversing the beautifully tangled cityscape,
Palpable and inescapable feelings of desire in this place worthy of a letter,
From the Westin Bonaventure hotel gazing West
The elevator, ornate in its style, hurtles upwards, blurring the distinction between levels
Is it only the floors of the hotel that we're talking about?
The expanse of the human mind brought to fruition,
in a landscape of steel, concrete, and dreams.
The urban sphere in perpetuity, molded over the semi-desert that once was tangible.
The Santa Monica's rear over it all, romanticizing the bigger picture
What is laid out for acute observation, for projecting desires and visions
It all slows down, lending space for the imagination to wander and to flourish
Acute emotions interwoven with a distinct conception of place
Los Angeles is far more than its common refrain, its moniker even.
I know this in the most intimate of ways:
Walking its streets
Talking to its people
Visiting its landmarks and attractions
Immersing myself in its history, its scholarship and critiques.
This is the way to truly understand what a place is made of, its fabric of life in the everyday.
If ever a city could be serve as a basis for creative inspiration,
I've found one in LA,
Basking in the undulating, shimmering waves of heat,
stretching into the indescribable timelessness,
Of a southern California summer.
The "Summer of Angels".
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