It’s always a delight to spot poetry in public. Like a whispered secret, I get a shiver of happy recognition.

On a walk through the neighborhood recently I noticed a fresh stretch of concrete, followed by an abrupt end. And then, just where the new sidewalk meets brush and bramble, this poems appears:

Where the Sidewalk Ends

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.

— Shel Silverstein

When I see ridiculous rules take precedence over common sense — like erecting an eyesore sign as a way to minimize liability — it’s refreshing to see a poem rise up in clever response.

In other ridiculousness, the work of Shel Silverstein — author of Where the Sidewalk Ends, The Giving Tree, and other beloved children’s books — is on the list of frequently banned books (source: American Library Association).

To me today, this poem-in-public is a gentle push against power, a reminder to keep reading, writing & walking.

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It's Thankful Thursday. Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem? What makes your world, and your heart, expand?