I went on a pre-dinner walk to Carl Schurz Park on the Upper East Side, and we found ourselves out on the boardwalk. Gazing out onto the East River, I could see both Astoria and the tip of Roosevelt Island. The last time I had wandered onto this boardwalk was after it snowed, and everything out past the river was shrouded in a dreamy fog. This time however, I stopped gazing out and started looking down. The water was meters below, the edge of Manhattan towering above. There was a highway sandwiched between layers of concrete, held up by green painted pillars. Hundreds of cars racing under a silent path.

    What struck me first was the headlights. The sun had just set, and so begun their nightly glow. I was drawn to them like the sight of fireflies in a field on a summer night. The whole structure seemed beautiful, despite its looming and artificial design. A stark cliff, layered like a canyon, ridged edges below the cars but smooth and rounded above. If you distance yourself from its creation and purpose, it feels like an imitation of nature. I wonder if this had crossed the designers minds. Was it made like this as an apology to the waters? I’m sorry that I conquered every bit of soil that you tossed upon. Here stands a new friend, a poor substitute. Like a stuffed surrogate mother for a grieving baby animal. Did the water accept this replacement halfheartedly, or with open arms?

    Admittedly, this design is a great example of mixed use development. Having a path above the highway gives space for pedestrians to enjoy a view of the water. Many of the people I encountered were walking their dogs. The highway didn’t dominate the space, like its counterparts often do in much of America. In North Carolina, there was a highway next to my high school. Those of us without cars would use its crosswalk to walk from the school to the gas station during lunch breaks. There the highway was a fierce beast, a lion held by a chain. Under the boardwalk it was just a sleeping cat. The walkers held the power.

    If you really wanted to forgo all sense of reality, you could attribute your walk to a walk on the beach. Water, gulls, “seashells” that looked suspiciously like litter. I think that even in man-made environments, our brain will try its best to find connections to nature, because genetically that is what we are trained to know. No amount of time spent in a city will undo the allure of the natural world. Why do you think we call it a ‘concrete jungle’? When starved of the original splendor of earth, we will find solace in simply looking out onto the water. We will see fireflies in headlights, canyons in cement, and shores in boardwalks. Maybe this is why deer stop when a car barrels towards them. They see a giant glowing moon.