Today is weird. It's raining--not summer storm rain, but just a steady rain. With school back in session (for the kids-- I don't go back until Tuesday) and the over air-conditioned state of the children's room... I think it's cold out. I mean, like I think it's November or something. I'm sure to get a rather large shock when I leave work today to find it's 75 degrees out (so, I guess it is cold for DC in late August...)
Anyway, today's Poetry Friday selection is rather depressing. Blame it on the (much needed) rain or something... anyway, I'm currently reading The Last Days of Old Beijing: Life in the Vanishing Backstreets of a City Transformed by Michael Meyers. I'm only about 70 pages in, but so far it's a fascinating look at the destruction of the hutong neighborhoods. On one hand, you're losing neighborhoods and homes, without recourse. One the other hand, these are homes built hundreds of years ago that aren't retro-fitted for heat or indoor plumbing and haven't had the upkeep been put into them... I'll post much more extensively on this later-- I've been kicking around a post on this topic since I went to Beijing last fall and I think this book will help frame what I want to say.
Anyway, today's poem was found scrawled on the interior wall of a house being torn down.
Poor in the carefree city
there is no quarter
Prosperity is in the remote mountains
Where I know people who care
Four years later, I stayed at the hotel that was built, along with shiny shopping centers and western eateries, in that same spot.
Round-up is at Charlotte's Library.