Oh Chicago, won't you marry me?

Finally. Finally you are warm enough to approach. Okay, truth be told, you were warm enough last September but my head was a substantial mess at the time and although with you, I couldn't get outside of me enough to really appreciate you. Timing is everything, isn't it? But seriously, now? Now, not only are you being superbly lovely, but I am open to what you have to offer. And even though it is raining at the moment, outside my window, your downtown skies of sulking grey clouds falling like draped cotton upon your buildings is actually a nice view -- though my feelings about it will no doubt change when I set out to the office shortly.

I can take today's rain though, because Monday and yesterday you were sunny and exciting. Staying downtown allowed me to get out on your streets at the break of dawn yesterday, walk along the river bank and stand at Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive in the same spot as in the turn of the century photo that hangs in my hotel lobby. Only for me, the scene was in color and there wasn't a horse to be found.

Last night, I walked your magnificent mile known as Michigan Avenue. What impresses me more than the array of stores from Tiffany's and Neimans to Ralph Lauren and Bloomingdales, is the art project. Lots of cities do this, in Houston we have boots or those cows, all purchased by local artists and corporate sponsors, but you, you have bicycles, and your artists are children. I've never seen bikes quite like these, painted in bright colors, wings attached, taken apart and re-assembled into something that would never roll, and otherwise individually interpreted, all by inner city kids. Nice touch.

But what really stopped me on my walk is where you bared your soul with those blue trees in front of the church, the art project with the message that found me frozen still on the sidewalk, save for the tears falling from my eyes. Each blue ribbon tied to the tree is for a child, a child who has suffered abuse. There are way too many blue ribbons there -- a single ribbon would be sad enough. And yet, the tree as a whole somehow stands for hope. I think that was your intention. I hope one day there's no need for a blue tree project, but for now, that the trees are there, that the church is there, well, you've quietly stolen a piece of my heart with that one.