In Every Direction

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IN EVERY DIRECTION

They meet in the cross.
On foot. In cars.
Down stairs and out into the street, high heels clacking into the flow.
Up elevators into the eerily lit parking garage.

Bicycles, babies in buggies, blondes with bare shoulders flowing into the center and out again.
The scent of perfume trails behind the dark eyed beauty in the crepe skirt blowing down the sidewalk like a bloom cast off the branch by a careless wind.
Crisp dark suits and valises passing sweats and sneakers.

The young, the old, the rich, the poor, the pathetic and the apathetic, the peaceful, the hopeless, the hurried, the hostile; all converge momentarily at this intersection of space and time, drawn into the fold by chaotic currents, the pattern of Life, larger than any solitary traveler.
Then the light changes. They spill out in every direction, rolling along the big black cross.

The sun will set.
Cars will transform into lines of dragon’s fire crawling up and down the spine of the cross, burning along the arms into the infinite dark of the night.
Moving, pausing, pulsing

The sun will rise.
The sidewalk lined streets will take on a new skin of human hustle. Lime green, red, and white, like a kaleidoscope, spiraling in and out along the surface.

The living flesh of the street.
Pixels of color, shape, sound, and scent,
a new configuration in every blink of the eye,
congealing in one moment and scattering
before it can be locked into form.

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