WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS
by Shel Silverstein
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 flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
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.
The theme of our most recent issue, Spring 2016, was the under-construction(ness) that defines New Orleans. The vegetation that upends sidewalks, the constant rebuilding of homes, and the feeling of unfinished finality. This installation, and our subsequent publication in the spring will explore how we define this attribute and how it affects living here.
Where The Sidewalk Ends resonates deeply with this vision. Our instillation aimed to bring a little of New Orleans back into the Tulane Campus through marking a virtual crack in an otherwise smooth Mcalister road.
