Waves & Ripples
I’d thought I’d seen “ivy-covered.” Princeton is supposed to set the gold standard for “ivy-covered,” right?
Wrong. Princeton has nothing on Northwestern. At Princeton, they use prissy little grates to keep the ivy from actually growing on the buildings. Here, ivy is smeared on every vertical surface possible. Gothic cathedral? Put some ivy on it! ’80s economical? Ivy would help! Porta-john? Ivy time!
I’m being flippant, but it’s actually quite beautiful.
We had a thunderstorm last night, and I had to fight my way back from class through the wind and the rain. I had left my umbrella in my dorm, too, so I was getting drenched. At some point, when I was fighting my way through the storm, I looked up at my dorm.
It looked like an emerald ocean. The tiny leaves of the ivy were rising and falling as the wind blew past them. You could see a gust pass from the north side of the street to the south side, the foliage rippling as the gale swept past.
The entire campus, in fact, rippled. Buildings wrinkled, then unfurled themselves. It was something. The waves of air became waves of grass which became waves of air again.
Sound is a wave too, you know.