“A Mother’s Greatest Fear.” Mural in Chicago, Illinois, and response to the city’s rising murder rate due to gang violence.
When I used to think of Chicago, Illinois, what immediately came to mind was Oprah. The wind. Then the cold. An image of rush hour people hurrying to work with the anxiousness of New Yorkers comes to mind. But the Chicagoan does not clutch his head or neck because there are too many people packed in one place to breathe; he does it because the winters are always frigid, always insane. I see scarves and trench coats flying behind the Chicagoan, pulled by the wind like the tail of a kite. I see a beautiful city sort of dipping its feet in water. I see side-by-side bridges. I see bridges over water.
Lately, when I think of Chicago, I still see the bridges. But they all seem to be over troubled waters.
