Lincoln Elementary School

Near where I live, a school building was knockeddown years ago—one of those solid brickelementary schools built before World War I,with high ceilings, tall windows, wide hallways,and a spinning globe on a platform in everyclassroom. These schools are where the soldierscame from. By the time I moved to town, a greengrass expanse was all that was left—a wholecity block, regularly mowed. There’s a moundin the southwest quadrant where I imaginethe building used to sit, surrounded on threesides by asphalt recreation space. But I can’tfind anyone who knows if they hauledthe rubble away or buried it where it fell.

It’s a good block to walk around—five timesis more than a mile—because the city of SiouxFalls keeps the sidewalks shoveled and saltedin winter, on all four sides. People here don’twalk much anymore—not like they did whenthis school was built, when families hada Model-T Ford automobile only if they werecomfortably circumstanced, and horses werestrictly for distance. People walked every day—not in circles, like me—but to school, and friends’houses, and the grocery store, and the barberor hair salon. These days, I’ve got the blockto myself, except for a lady with a dog, and a manwho mumbles and sometimes sports a papercrown and always has a transistor radio up

to one ear, like a seashell that is giving himserious news. Only once did he seem inclinedto match his pigeon-toed steps to mine—hestayed politely in the grass, so we walkedtogether for a while. Once, I spied a biggray bird standing out front of a small brownhouse with a sagging porch. The bird wasmaking a noise like a faraway handsawand glaring at a tree trunk. To me, it lookedupset. I pegged it for a female domestic turkey,although I’d never seen one anything like thatcolor—like smoke or slate. Was it someone’spet, or an escapee from a slaughterhouse truck?

For months, I kept my eye on a patch of shatteredChristmas ornament—shining purple shardsin the dead grass, slowly bleaching to violetspatter in the tides of snow and ice, emergingfewer and dagger silver in spring’s cold sunlight.There was also a noose made of clothesline,fraying and not big enough for a human, Idon’t think. It stayed in the gutter for a long time,until I noticed it was gone. These are only a fewof the things I’ve seen on my walks—withthe general idea being that everything keepschanging around us, from behind as well asahead, and what’s left of consequence—ifwe’re lucky—is one square block of localgeography for each of us to tread.