When The Night Speaks

I went on a wonderful lengthy winter's walk tonight. I left just after 10:30 and didn't get in until after one. There is something about walking alone in the winter that gets me going. I absolutely love it. The cold ceases to be a hindrance and becomes a companion.

I had nowhere in particular to go, so I just...walked. I went north and east of campus. The furthest sign I remember seeing was the corner of Sixteenth St. and Third Ave. I passed by some interesting places, and learned a thing or two. Most interesting to me, I found the starting point of what is called National Road Heritage Trail. I BELIEVE that was just passed Thirteenth and Sycamore. I wanted to walk it SO badly, but I read the sign at its entrance and it clearly stated that the hours of use were to be within daylight. I know it would be amazing to walk that trail at night, though. Just looking down it sent my mind racing and got the creative gears in my head turning.

Near the corner of Thirteenth St (it might have been Thirteenth and a Half) and Tippecanoe, I thought I recognized the house where Katie Beard, Kristie, Natalie Shonk, and I all drank with some white trash guys in their ghetto backyard last summer. I was so sure it was the place. I circled the block so I could see it from the back (where we were most of that night). It turned out not to be the same house, but I KNOW the place was close. I could just...feel it. You know when you have a bad or intense experience somewhere and just being in that place causes anxiety and brings back those memories? That is very much what I felt.

Across the street from an establishment called Zim Marrs, there is a nice little playground. This playground was payed for by the American Legion Post 346, so said the sign just beyond the swing set where I sat and began writing the first lines of my latest poem "When the Night Speaks" upon a the back of a receipt. I migrated over to a picnic table from the swings and was greeted by an onslaught of words like "crack" and "motherfucker" written upon its surface. One message in particular grabbed my attention more than others. Someone had written "Kayla and her mom are some punk bitches." I felt this to be unnecessary, regardless of setting, and specifically in a children's play ground. Luckily, this libel (or accurate, albeit cruel information, I do not know) was written in Sharpie and was only upon the first layer of paint. I decided to scrape this off. I like to think I saved Kayla and her mom from having to read such things written about them if they visit this picnic table. Perhaps I saved others from creating biased opinions of Kayla and her mom. In any case, I felt better leaving the table a little nicer than I found it.

I wish I remembered what street Zim Marrs was on. That's a bar and grill. I could just look it up but that would be no fun. I'll come upon it again in my walks, I'm sure. The atmosphere inside the place looked so inviting. People were playing pool and chatting away. While walking past it, for the first time in my life ,I thought "I can't wait until I turn 21 so I can hang out in bars." Hear me out. It has nothing to do with alcohol. It's to do with the environment. As childish as this is going to sound...It's a place for grown-ups. I used to think bars were just where drunks hung out. But I do believe I was mistaken. The bars in Marshall are kind of tactless, as are the people that inhabit them. However, I feel like a bar is like anything else...different people will find different ones appealing.

On the next road passed Zim Marrs I turned to head back towards campus. I could have walked all night, though that would not have been practical. My feet started to hurt a little bit about half way back so I am glad I turned back when I did. The only reason they hurt at all was because I was goofy enough to wear thin dress socks and shoes that weren't really walking shoes. What I took away from my walk (among other things): I will make sure to wear sock and shoes more fit for walking from here on out.

Also, I was reminded that--


Winter has its own set of rules. It yields to no one.
The night is alike in this. The rules of the night and
the rules of winter fit perfectly with one another.
It is in the dark of night during winter's reign that
Clarity is most abundant.

Tonight's walk was illuminated by street lights and traffic lights,
Head lights and bar lights. Each stride opened up the possibility of a unique truth,
known only by the piece of earth inhabited that very moment, but only while I was there.