The Walk Sara V. Fernandez Class of 2019 Alumna Walking back from the Johnson Athletic Center, the wind chills us. Our staggered steps leave an off-tempo gap between us. Sidewalks do not typically span the width of six feet, so we must alternate who leads and who follows. We speak fluidly, but our steps remain unrefined, sporadic, and clunky. We strain to see each other, but our legs pull us onward. My winter coat anchors me towards the ground. My toes feel glued to my boots, but then again, they do not feel much of anything at the moment. My ungloved hands sit sheltered in my pockets, only slightly burning from the February cold. More wind chills us. We enter the courtyards that separate the dining buildings from the academic. The path is flanked by twelve-inch snowbanks, untouched and untainted by the world. Sunlight radiates off the powder, striking our eyes with the illuminated scene. The trees are painted, and benches are overcome by the frozen glow. The surreal whiteness beckons, calling us to explore it and diverge from our path. My gait steadies. I take in my surroundings as I consider my strides. The rhythmic crinkle of leather on cotton dissipates as I slow to a stop. I wait a moment, then peer over this image of serenity. It seems so empty, but its fullness intrigues me. Another moment passes. It looks as if this has always been this way, like nothing could ever intervene and change it. The pervading quiet stirs me. I wonder, is this serene? Is this calm silencing the noise?
This undisturbed blanket hides the earth below it, masking the grimy chaos that lies beneath. The wilted flowers, the blackened colors, and everything else is shielded from view. I turn away from the guise and outstretch my arms to separate me from this pristine landscape. Do I really want to reveal what is hiding? I check my steadiness for a second, then I let my weight rock me backward. The off-balance teeter lifts me from the ground. For a moment, there is no snow. Then, it envelops me. I sink deep into the bank, compressing everything below me. The wind cannot touch me here. I move my limbs against the powdery surface, smoothing it out and imprinting my form. I breathe deeply, slowing my motion. My eyes close as I stop to think. Is this really what peace looks like?
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