Friday, February 22, 2013

A bird out of season

I walk slowly down the empty road, and my footsteps are the loudest sound. I stop to note the passing of a commuter train high above. Little squares of light rushing past. In the middle of each one, little black silhouettes bent over their newspapers and smartphones. Do they look out? Do they see me, alone among the brick and wood? Do they wonder where they are, where I am?

The train passes, and I move on. Buildings appear abandoned upon a quick glance, but a second look reveals their own squares of warm light, the promise of other people. I am drawn to them. I push open the door and the empty city falls away.