Walking Home

BY ROGER PAO

Near midnight, our campus curves through ranges of shadowpitched against the craft ofmoonlight. Blundering throughchores by daylight, we seldom witness pavement,smoothed below our steps as below the steps of generationsof students before us. A cloud straggles through the inkjet sky like a bold translation.

Do you rememberradiant starfish, the power of coral, shimmering stones by a lakeside cliff? I never wantedto depart from sun-bakedsurfaces of wind and grass, yet hereI am in law school, already remembering, apart from my allegiance to muddily polished waters of seeming innocence.

It is Spring again. Cambridge possesses the scent of grass, each unblemished bladeglistening above pocketfulsof earth. I have traveledhere before, learning how to hold the details in my mind,as raindrops shiver into puddles,as I open a good umbrella.I am walking home.I have been here before and know nothing remains unchanged.

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