Where the Earth Cradles the Sky

There's a place I discovered in the alley heading from Court St. to Kantner Hall that I want to share with the world. I was contemplating Midnight in Paris, the bricked rues to which the cities lay claims, the commencement of my 4th year in Athens, and the importance of footsteps to Cagean symphonies. I happened on a stretch of brick to my left that met the vertical bricks of the building that lined it. Here there was an ordinary drain pipe that I'm sure has outlived any student I have known to walk these same bricks as I. A small, yet lively, puddle had formed under the pipe where years of rain nestled so closely and oft that the brick had reformed around the years of puddles.

 So here I was, an alley at dusk after a great film, and I just stop and watch this small body of water dance. An old muse, to which I've dedicated such time to through my life that I now consider it more of a friend, captured me once more.


This groove in a small heavily traversed alley is representative of decades--even a century of rain fall. It's a cradle for the sky. A nest of all eternity. Soul mates, fitting puzzle pieces of the city together since the advent of the town. A place where a gaze can be flattened into the environment it usually streamlines through. Well, I'm not sure of this at all but there is pleasantry to it.

Though that's not even as I prefer to think of it. I much rather prefer to think of myself as a body of water, which is all too 90-some-odd% true. I like to think I know the stability of earth wrapping around me. The comfort of running into an old friend so many times that we both just melt into one giant puzzle piece. The lines are blurred, the brick is seen only through the puddle. Nestled as they are they continue because of one another, whether in spite, spirit, or sublimation. They could not exist any other way.

Why would they want to?