TrekFeet

A better version of ourselves. February 25, 2007

I took a long walk through the snowy city this morning. Out into the still finale of a night’s downfall and through the abandoned streets as the storm got its second wind and pooled on my cheek bones.  

I know conventional wisdom awards the country a monopoly on solitude and peace. 

But I promise you there is no quiet like the city on a morning like this. I cannot keep myself inside on these rare days - nights when the snow insulates the city walks and the lampposts cast a muted glow up into the purple canopy of the cloudy dome.  Hazy afternoons by the lakes where your ears search for any sound and report back only the faroff swish of cross country skies and what must be the noise snow makes as it falls on to piles of itself.

Today, I trudged past cafes where steamed glass windows presented a silent show: Family joints where waitresses navigate towheaded kids chasing dogs through slicks of melted snow. Elitist coffee shops where the wi-fi crowd sit in wire rims and uniform black and admire the weather during downloads. Past businesses abandoned for the day, amphitheaters without audiences, a gamble of sidewalks alternately plowed by industrious neighbors and neglected by lazy blocks still tucked into Sunday morning rituals. I barely noticed a noise the whole time I was gone, but I took in every wordless sight - of drifted doors and frosted branches, dog prints in shin deep walks and this black and white world reflected back even more elegantly in bay windows.    

Maybe it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be when the heavens open than in a city - if only for the contrast.  Today, we are unhurried, observant and slow to speak…a better version of ourselves.