I love the arcades in Torino, Italy. They are like this. Long walkways with ribbed ceilings and archways down each side. The archways go and go and go, and through each one you can see the piazza or the beautiful churches. Then you face forward again as you walk, with the occasional turn of the head.
The kids come, then grow up and head out on their own. The developing of talents gives a certain adrenaline rush at first, and then we settle in. The build up before a trip to the warm beaches of No Carolina. And it goes on.
But all of these are part of my own arcade. Little arcs. Little arcs. And I turn my head again and again to look out.