Sidewalk Noir
There's a street called Brattle in Cambridge. It used to be called Tory Row, named after all of the English loyalist whale hunters who built their big houses there. I walk down this street at least 4 times a day, to and from Harvard Square. It's a beautiful street, a beautiful walk, paved with jutting flagstones and shadowed with encroaching or magnificant trees. The stones are big and worn, and are losing their fights with local tree roots. One must look down to avoid tripping on their little battle grounds.
I'm going to tell you why waking down Brattle Street with your head down is a good idea (besides the necessity of doing so to avoid falling):
Shadows! Brattle Street boasts some of the best shadows in Cambridge, and they are all around your feet as you gawk at Longfellow's old house and the Divinity School and that huge once-pink/now-white monstrosity that I love. The shadows are thanks to the matte flagstone and the shapely chestnut leaves and, at night, the lovely but practically useless orange street lights.
The only thing these lights do well is turn off right when you walk into their vicinity OR assist the trees in casting their wonderful images onto the matte grey cracked sidewalk. And also onto a very special old tawny BMW that used to always be parked where the image or an elegant iron fence could be temporarily cast upon it, lending some night-time glamour for the old wreck.
On nice days, a very certain kind of nice day, the sun gives the shadows multiple dimensions. While one shadow dances in the wind, another layer of shadow remans still or dances a different way. And the sun shines between the leaves in perfect little replicas of itself. My mother told me that during an eclipse, these little suns all eclipse together.
