Landing in Detroit is oddly beautiful. The farms are small and divided in weird angles, and it looks more like Germany, than the perfectly efficient and boring farms I grew up around. The land itself is green and blue and lush, and bears no resemblance to the city itself. From up here it’s all hauntingly idyllic.
Even the power plant in the background, with two Simpson’s style giant smoke stacks, come off as symbol of progress, instead of the reality of what it actually is. I wonder if that’s what people used to see when they flew here: a city as a manifestation of progress. And then I think, maybe I like Detroit? I’ve never taken a step outside the airport, but the stories vs. the landscape battle it out for my opinion.
Originally published at American Love Affair.