***A little housekeeping first: yes, I am insane and signed on for another month of daily blogging. The theme this month is GIFT. Of course this leaves a lot of room for interpretation in my book. Anyway, I shall endeavor to present a gift for every day in December. Think of it as a kind of crazy advent blog or something. You'll have to provide your own chocolate, though. Now, on with the show...***
A bank of fog has settled its broad, white behind over the city today. On a perfectly clear day from my street I can see the peaks of the Olympic Mountain range, I can see the hills of the next neighborhood over bristling with houses. I can look south and stand on my tippy toes and barely see the tippy tops of the buildings downtown. But the fog. When the fog rolls in, it obscures the sweeping vistas and everything outside my little crooked neighborhood is a blanket of grayish white and my world is reduced to the sidewalk directly in front of me.
In the summer the sidewalk is a canvas for chalk masterpieces; a two lane highway for a steady stream of little bicycles, scooters, Big Wheels; a space for impromptu block parties while we tend the children, the barbecue grills, and the front flower beds. In the fall it becomes a dreamscape of reds, golds, purples & greens as the trees that line our street start to shed. On sunny days those leaves are piled up and jumped in by neighborhood kids; on rainy days, they glisten like jeweled tiles. On school days, the sidewalks become become a colorful river with a procession of little ducklings on their trudge to school. Bundled heads and hands, parents clutching coffee, rubber boots, backpacks as big as their bearers, brave bicycles: all in varying degrees of "hurry up!" Today my sidewalks carried my knitting and me, first to the house of a friend, and then together to the promise of a cup of warm coffee and conversation.
I love my city of sidewalks. I love that most of my world is limited to where two legs can carry me. I love that the pace is reduced to the speed of the shortest legs. I love the fog today that wraps me up and shrinks the world to the length of a stride, the next puff of breath in the cold. I love the way the moss looks so vivid, almost surreal in the filtered light. I love the way the naked trees cling to their last few leaves like they were surprised getting out of the shower. I love the winter pansies and their brave, bright faces amid the grays and browns. I love the crows that watch us walk and they know. I love the friendly nods from strangers as we make our way. Most of all, I love that life becomes less about the destination and more about the means of getting there.
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| Our stretch of sidewalk. |
In the summer the sidewalk is a canvas for chalk masterpieces; a two lane highway for a steady stream of little bicycles, scooters, Big Wheels; a space for impromptu block parties while we tend the children, the barbecue grills, and the front flower beds. In the fall it becomes a dreamscape of reds, golds, purples & greens as the trees that line our street start to shed. On sunny days those leaves are piled up and jumped in by neighborhood kids; on rainy days, they glisten like jeweled tiles. On school days, the sidewalks become become a colorful river with a procession of little ducklings on their trudge to school. Bundled heads and hands, parents clutching coffee, rubber boots, backpacks as big as their bearers, brave bicycles: all in varying degrees of "hurry up!" Today my sidewalks carried my knitting and me, first to the house of a friend, and then together to the promise of a cup of warm coffee and conversation.
I love my city of sidewalks. I love that most of my world is limited to where two legs can carry me. I love that the pace is reduced to the speed of the shortest legs. I love the fog today that wraps me up and shrinks the world to the length of a stride, the next puff of breath in the cold. I love the way the moss looks so vivid, almost surreal in the filtered light. I love the way the naked trees cling to their last few leaves like they were surprised getting out of the shower. I love the winter pansies and their brave, bright faces amid the grays and browns. I love the crows that watch us walk and they know. I love the friendly nods from strangers as we make our way. Most of all, I love that life becomes less about the destination and more about the means of getting there.
