There's a point where this sidewalk just ends. It's funny to me. There isn't another sidewalk that starts a little bit ahead or anything... it simply stops in the middle of a field. This afternoon I took my camera and rode the belleville out there so I could have something in the picture other than a plain sidewalk.
It makes me think of Shel Silverstein poems.
We used to always check those books out in 3rd grade,
and Where the Sidewalk Ends is the obvious one that comes to mind.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his fight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
-Shel Silverstein
