Saturday, December 21, 2024

Wednesday’s Walk by Anna Emerson

Wednesday’s Walk After a frustrating class period, I walk in any direction. A concrete lattice with the promise of infinite paths soothes my restless mind and occupies my legs. I follow green lights, enlisting chance to decide my course, and wait at no intersection longer than it takes for a sign to turn me down its path. I must have the appearance of a confident pedestrian: someone tells me they are following me as we snake our way through a maze of crosswalks. “This is a funny intersection,” I remark over my shoulder. “It is a really weird one!” they respond. Alone again, I walk on the side of the street that is immersed in its own early evening shadow. This shadow stretches over the sidewalk, across rumbling pavement, and toward its neighbors to the east. Is this daily cycle of shade and sun the closest the two sides will ever come to touching? One side reaches with sunrise, the other with sunset, only ever to find that the other has retreated. Only the prismatic lights of night—speeding headlights, neon signs, and street lamps with shadows oblique and numerous—will allow the sides to meet in some kind of frenzied dream. It is an electric dream of synthetic contact, but it is contact nonetheless. But now it is daytime, and the only light that matters is that of the steady sun. The shadow of an otherwise stoic tree throws itself into an embrace with the bright corner of a building opposite. My shadow is modest and only brushes the curb.



< Return to Exhibit