Sometimes I pass a building that speaks to me. It’s hard to say what it is - some quirk or subtlety about it that eludes description. Some happy accident of land or architecture, or the clever mind of a particular architect, makes something beautiful. I don’t know the language of beauty, but I usually know it when I see it. I can at least hear its whisper, even if I can’t make out the words.
And then sometimes, there is a building that speaks loud and clear. This is the bedroom window of a house in the city:
