People hurry under electric canopies, dig in their pockets for dollar
bills and buy tickets. The buildings sleep along the river. The boats wait
in the shadows. Movie signs, crossing cops, window tracks and different
colored suits of clothes; odors, noises, lights and a mysteriously tender
pattern of walls--these lie in the night like a reward.
We walk away with memories. When we are traveling some day, riding over
strange places, these will be things we shall remember. Not words, but
lines that mean nothing; and the scene from the bridge will bring a sad
confusion into our heads. And we shall sit staring at famous monuments,
battlefields, antiquities, and whisper to ourselves:
"... wish I was back ... wish I was back...."
THE LAKE
The lake asks an old question as you ride to work or come home from work
on the I. C. train. The train shoots along and out of the window the lake
turns slowly like a great wheel. There is a curious optical illusion, as
if the train were riding frantically on the rim of a great wheel and the
wheel were turning in an opposite direction.
Perhaps this illusion makes it seem as if the lake were asking an old
question as you ride along its edge--"Where you going?"
* * * * *
People looking out of the train window seem to grow sad as they stare at
the lake.
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