One Block on the Wiggle

There is a richness you can taste in the air. Cars may earn permission to pass
through, bikes are welcome travelers, and the walkers are invited to stay. The
greatest status is reserved for the gazers, the coffee sippers, and the wanderers,
and is granted by the trees. The slender branches above you hold the weight
of every secret shared here, every baby’s first step taken over their roots. They
still hold scars from decades past, and their roots remember. They do not need
to meet you to know who you are. Before the dawn, their arms reach open to
stir on the early birds. As the light streams across the sidewalk, so too do the
crowds of the day. Some are searching, some are seeing, and some simply have
no reason to leave. Dappled shade over tables forgives errant leaves fallen in
half-drunk lattes as the sun reaches its solitary mountaintop. Wheels purr and
tourists buzz over pavement, held together by the human desire to be both
outside and in, both far from home and yet still within reach, both individual
and yet not alone. As evening falls, and the humans huddle across small tables,
the outside air sharpens all that is in it. The stray passers by do not notice until
they reach the trees and soft gold from a street light draws them in. You look up
for the first time tonight. The gold illuminates green among shades of navy and
gray. The light flutters once, twice, as the wind speaks. You shiver. Unsettled,
you look forward to the windows below, to the warmth and chatter waiting for
you inside, and you walk in.
Illustration by Molly Hayden
@cargobikemolly on Instagram