“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

At some intersections, the corner sidewalk square is textured, serving as a tactile warning to the visually impaired that the road is just beyond.

Growing up, my twin sister and I were puzzled by these pebbled squares in our neighborhood. Our grandfather explained that they were dancing squares, and that you had to stop and show off your latest and greatest moves before crossing the street. At age four, this made perfect sense; we would giggle with happiness when we came across one and then twist and jump around to inaudible music. For many years, coming across a square was an opportunity to stop and boogie.

At some point though, high school, college, and work started snapping at my heels, pushing me to hurry forward. When I got to a dancing square, the music didn’t play anymore. In a rush, I jumped out into traffic, or if forced to stop, I groaned instead of giggled. I saw the squares as roadblocks, not opportunities.

I have started to see these squares as dancing squares again, for the first time in a long time. My grandfather is no longer alive, but his imagination is. My plan is to stop and dance more.

— Charlotte Keeley