Over Adams one morning

Over Adams one morning, © 2014 Celia Her City
Another dawn: joyous, painful, inconclusive.  The streets of the Loop are beginning to jam.  As the train flies south, each cross-street flies into view for a second, begging to be frozen in photographic time, a experience too fleeting to merit the name.

Yet the seconds do accumulate, just as beneath the train, the street scenes multiply, each a little different, each jammed with life, the footfall of a pedestrian, each car containing a person, or more.  Strangers, perhaps; or is there someone here I know?

The still-cold buildings shine bravely, hit fitfully with the southern sun.  Flags, surprisingly numerous, flap jauntily, interjecting a jarring patriotism.  One knows Adams because of the Art Institute plugging the street, its pediment filling the gap satisfyingly, for a second, at least.

Down there is emotion of every kind.  Some poor fool delighted to be alive; a young woman proud of her dress, her body; lifers bored or aggravated; cab-drivers stewing.  More than one person thinking it’s a farce, wondering why they’re commuting, heads full of anxiety and money-worry.

Off to the office for another day, there to dream about love and the home we crave.

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