The scaffolding from the facade of the church on my block has finally been removed. Reverent walls brightened my walk to Broadway this morning. The sidewalks pulsed with life, veins in concrete weaving at storefronts. Somewhere a jackhammer pureed a melting sheet of ice.
I thought of how much like a smile, post-braces, the church is - beautiful, dazzling in its reclaimed smoothness after a length of being tracked in metal, encumbered by beams. I ran my tongue over my own teeth then, recalling the dramatic movement that brought each rebellious tooth to order, slowly, but efficiently. It took longer to grow crooked than to straighten up and get in line.
This story is one of the most radical, yet subtle, changes. Each step I take, shift happens.
