Codra Wing

The Walk

As the moonlight emerged it cast a watchful eye on the park and the strollers, ambling behind white breath as they advanced in the crisp night air. Hand in hand, and more often arm in arm, they lumbered along the dark path, sometimes their pace quickening, or their step less assured, as recently crystallized ice creaked uneasily underfoot. The promenade spanned nearly an hour now: often in silence but in awe of the evening and the spaces between them. Emblematic of the systems by which they understood one another, the destination was known but their paths found new direction: bilaterally, by shared reflection and at whim given the current of the moment. Like a game they once played, seeing where they might finish when alternating turns: first right, then left, right, left. That night they finished along a darkened country road, bathed again in moonlight and the sight of residential developments glistening on a distant, darker horizon. This time, though, was geographically different -- now on foot, roaming in the snow-encrusted dog park in her neighbourhood (he knew of it too, but this was her arena) -- but turning questions in their mind was the same activity as driving in patterns unknown. Together, balance was key. Not only was the path newly iced-over, unsalted and unstable, but their shared language had become uneven too: he, stabilizing his body for support as she lost grip; she, reassuring her words when his sighs implied doubt. Yes, and as time meandered and constellations coyly identified themselves one after another, their words opened rhythmically, wandering the essing path, connecting and mapping the private labyrinths of their hearts.


S*
2008.11.30