I work in the country.
In the middle of a field, in the middle of nowhere sits my building. It’s nine miles from my house. Every day I drive to work past fields and farms and would-be subdivisions. The new homes spoil what would otherwise be a perfect illusion of seclusion and country life. I guess people have to live somewhere, but I wish they didn’t build such ugly houses.
There’s an eagle (it could be a hawk, I’ve never checked its ID) I see sometimes when I’m driving. It likes to sit on the telephone post and look out over the two-lane road. Whenever I see it, I feel happy.