Chasing Lily
Lily likes to walk
From a step behind, streets feel longer, small moments linger, and I start to measure time through her steps.
In Charleston I noticed her pace for the first time. She walks without hesitation or doubt, her speed steady against the stretching streets.
From behind the buildings feel taller and the streets seem impossibly long.
In the rhythm I forget where we're going and start noticing the way the she moves, the way the city bends around her stride.
The bridge seems to narrow as she walks. I'm still a beat behind, chasing railings towards her.
The trees and color slice Charleston in half, dividing it into where we've been and where we're going.
I know behind me, the streets must be blurring already. The people must be fading. The buildings crumbling back into the ground.
No time to turn around.
I followed her here, to an Orchard in Maine. The branches bend under the weight of their fruit.
I watch her reach into the tree from a step behind.
The scene builds itself around her once more, and I find myself fixated to the shape her hand makes around an apple.
The orchard begins here, the trees stand where she turns.
The grass and air smell new. They last only as long as we stand here.
In a moment the scene changes. The orchard is gone and the coast takes its place.
She turns at last, arms wide against the sea.
The ground stabilizes and the rocks hold. The world stays as it is.
There is no need to follow, it seems we're not going anywhere.
The stillness holds, and I find myself believing it.
