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The voyeurism of winter dog walking
I find, these days, that I am a voyeur. Not intentionally. I have to walk the dog, after all. But now, in the early dark, as I walk past home after home, I see a tiny glimpse into my neighbor’s indoor lives. I see them preparing dinner or doing the dishes. I seem them reading their books or working on their computers. I see what they watch on their large screen TVs through their plate glass living room windows.
In the summer, walking the dog means interacting with my neighbors. People are outside. We greet each other. We make small talk. In the late fall and early winter, it is dark and too cold to sit outside. People retreat inside. They turn on the lights. And I see them as I walk past.
I find, these days, that I am a voyeur. Not intentionally. I have to walk the dog, after all. But now, in the early dark, as I walk past home after home, I see a tiny glimpse into my neighbor’s indoor lives. I see them preparing dinner or doing the dishes. I seem them reading their books or working on their computers. I see what they watch on their large screen TVs through their plate glass living room windows.
In the summer, walking the dog means interacting with my neighbors. People are outside. We greet each other. We make small talk. In the late fall and early winter, it is dark and too cold to sit outside. People retreat inside. They turn on the lights. And I see them as I walk past.