Yesterday my journalism class was walking around outside of City Hall in unbelievably bitter cold as Clark talked about the statuary, and my body was in flux. Outside in the crisp air i was round and padded, trying to catch all the places where chill was sneaking past my defenses. As we moved into the building my defenses were forgotten as the four stories of freestanding concrete stairs crept up through the soles of my shoes to leave my whole body gray and heavy as i plodded upward. At the top we walked into cool marble halls, and again i went through a sort of transmutation, everything sliding past me without leaving a mark. Finally, we found our way into the Mayor’s conference room, and i was as wooden as the carvings in the spectacular mantle — solid, but not resistant to the changes that had been worn into me since i was last in that room — almost three years ago with my chopped-off-ponytail hair and my weary sunburnt cheeks, looking unbelievably forward to college.


It’s been twenty four more hours now, but i still feel so much that that mahogany… smooth and polished surface that is hard but malleable… that belies the concentric rings underneath.


Each one shows how much i’ve grown.