S.L. Green

Marco Polo, could barely remember his encounter with Old Kiwsnurb; the city of lost history. He started his tale describing the layout of streets in this city and the beautiful river which floated lazily by, on its banks. As he told his story, it occurred to him that although the streets were not arranged in a regular pattern, that they were always immediately recognizable by the way they subtly danced with each other at intersections and corners. Even the way the main street of Albany met the shallow river was a unique juncture; it seemed that as it nonchalantly leaped from the bank and bounded across the staunch piers of the bridge, that the road itself may have pre-dated the river.

Marco Polo presented a map of the streets of this city to the king; after looking at the plan for some time, the king looked up at him and asked what this wonderful city looked like. Marco Polo did not answer immediately; and when he did, he told the king that it looked like the map which he held in his lap. The king laughed and rocked in his velvety chair as he clenched the map firmly in his hand. He then told the king of a dream he had the first evening he spent in Old Kiwsnurb.

He dreamed of a dark cold night and a silent stretch of land on which a beautiful layout of streets was inscribed; this land crept slowly down toward an equally silent river. On the shore of this river lay four large wooden boxes. As the warm orange glow of dawn began to wash the quiet sky, five men appeared from a wooded area. They walked clumsily through the streets of this flat city and down to the wooden boxes along the shore. They carried the boxes up to the streets and opened them. With their contents, they built magnificent buildings on the edges of these lonely yet beautiful streets. At the end of the day, just as the neon blue sky gave way to pale watercolors of dusk, the water rose up and carried these buildings out to sea; all the men could do was watch from a nearby hilltop as the city of their imagination was reduced again to the network of silent streets.

From the lavender haze of the eastern sky, a boat was seen approaching; and as it landed, the captain and crew placed four large boxes on the banks of the river and headed back out to sea. The five men clamored down from the hilltop and stared down at the boxes, up at the streets, and across at each other. They remained silent for a long time, and sensing they all were thinking the same thing, one of them spoke. He explained that he knew they had built a beautiful city this day, the day before, and the day before that; but, in the haste of its construction, he could not remember how they had arranged the buildings on the streets. He suggested that they take refuge in the nearby woods for the evening, and begin anew in the morning; each man agreed, yet each one knew that the next day they would never be able to create what they thought they had known the day before.