For the times, they are a-changin'

For the past nine years---the longest I've lived anywhere---I have been writing at a desk in the back of my apartment that overlooks my neighborhood's old Spanish-style buildings and the Hollywood sign. It also overlooked two palm trees and an old power pole that captivated me the first time I saw it. I could never get enough of the view ... bright blue days, windy days, rainy days, the smoky, hazy, unreal days of the Griffith Park and San Diego fires. I've watched squirrels hang precariously off the pole, and birds cluster on it. When I wasn't able to find the right words, I stared at it for hours. And then, last week, the worst thing imaginable happened. I noticed a couple guys working on the pole. The next thing I knew, the decades' old power box and beautiful blue glass thingies (sorry, I don't know the technical terms) were gone, and in their place a new, ugly cylinder that I'm sure is safer and more efficient, but that breaks my heart every time I look at it. I'm not sure that I want to live here anymore. In pictures, an ode to my writing life since 2000 ...