Winner of the Month: The Sidewalk Said So

By Alessandra Konzen

I’ve been trying to take walks without distractions lately—no music, no podcasts, no scrolling, no emails. Just me, the rhythm of my footsteps, and the city’s strange symphony: pigeons muttering, palm fronds rattling, neighbors talking to their dogs.

Most days, I stop to admire or identify a plant pushing its way through a fence or blooming defiantly from a crack in the sidewalk. Most days, I also end up scoffing at the sidewalks themselves—smeared with forgotten dog poop, fossilized gum, and the occasional pile of something I don’t want to think too hard about. The duality of the city.

Still, I try to be generous. I tell myself: this is city life. I chose this. Maybe in retirement, my walks will follow dirt paths beneath oaks or pines.

For now, I can at least enjoy what the city gives me.

Today, I was doing just that—trying to recite the names of all the native plants pushing through the sidewalk cracks.

Etched into the concrete like a secret someone left behind on purpose:

BIRD LIVES

I stopped. Stared.

It wasn’t new. The letters were worn, softened by time and footsteps.

I laughed. I’ve walked this exact path to get coffee for three years. Three years of slow, mindful walks. Of looking down at weeds and up at tree branches. Of stopping to photograph mushrooms and note the moment a fig tree bears fruit or passionfruit vines swell with color. And somehow, I’d never seen this.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t asking to be noticed.

It just existed—quietly, steadily.

Like it had been waiting for me to finally catch up.

BIRD LIVES

The bush tits that dart from canyon brush, singing their high “tisps” in unison.

The phoebe who made a home on the hammock stand in my yard.

The red-shouldered hawk I sometimes see perched on a telephone wire—looking both out of place and completely at home.

The mourning doves cooing before dawn.

The mockingbirds rehearsing symphonies at dusk.

The goldfinches flashing like sunlight between branches.

They’re here. Still. Despite the sidewalks. Despite the noise. Despite us.

And I haven’t noticed.

I guess there’s no graduation from mindfulness.

No arrival. Just catching up.

The sidewalk said so.