0315.downtown — Things that knew we were coming
What follows is an interview of a Sunday walk taken downtown in March 2026. The questions are the ones worth asking. The answers are an account of this day.
How did the walk start?
The city puts something in the air on Sunday mornings that is either peace or just the absence of commuters, and it is hard to tell the difference from inside an apartment.
Had you been planning this one?
There was a list. There is always some kind of list. It had reasonable things on it, the kind that accumulate over a week and feel important on Friday and less so by Sunday morning when the light is doing what it was doing and coffee is on the mind and the shoes are already on.
Something was playing on the way out and then the door was closed and the bridge was already there, the way it always is, just doing the one thing it knows how to do. The bricks were catching the sun at an angle they hadn't tried before. The bridge doesn't know about the list. The city has never once consulted the list.
You mentioned something was playing when you left?
You know the city makes noise constantly. Occasionally it accidentally makes music. This was airdropped to me when the door closed. Nobody has claimed it.
Something In The Water (水の中に何かあります)
We have water and then some across the city.
Who is the koi pond for?
Someone put them there and the leaves got in over winter and nobody removed them. There are three fish. They move through the debris like they ordered it that way, slow and unbothered, which is either wisdom or the natural condition of something that has never had anything better.
They have been here longer than you have. They will be here when you come back doing exactly this.
The pond is south of Broad in a part of downtown that is neither one thing nor another, which is how a lot of Columbus works. There is no obvious way down to it. You look at it from above and the fish look like they are being looked at from above and that is the arrangement and it seems to suit everyone.
Whatever is happening down there has been happening without an audience for a long time and will continue to do so. The leaves got in. Nobody came. The fish made their adjustments and continued.
Were the koi the only ones who knew you were coming?
Not today, Two geese arrived in 1933. you can tell because the plaque confirms this. They have been restoring themselves ever since — quietly, in the mud, next to a tree the city has marked with a blue X. The geese are not reading the tree. The geese are not reading anything. They have a system and it is working just fine.
Did they acknowledge you?
One of them looked up. It was not a friendly look. It was not an unfriendly look. It was the look of something that has seen people with cameras before and has made its peace with the whole situation without being happy about it. Then it went back to drinking from the puddle. The puddle was more interesting. This seemed fair.
How are they getting along with the locals?
Fine. There is a man lying in the grass at Topiary Park and a goose nearby doing the same thing, more or less. Both of them are looking at nothing in particular. Both of them have decided that Sunday belongs to them. They reached this conclusion independently and it turned out to be compatible.
Important Geese FAQs
Are the geese still there?
Yes! The geese have always been there. They are constantly restoring to the best versions of themselves.
Are they aware this is a photo blog about Columbus?
They are aware this is a photo blog about them. Columbus is incidental.
Should I feed the geese?
No. Never feed the geese.
Music in your city finds you
Where does it come from?
The red doors are the same red as the brick, which is either intentional or the building just absorbed them over time. The dumpster sits in a reserved spot like it earned it. Nobody goes in. Nobody comes out. Inside, somebody is filing something in the right order.
Nobody goes in. Nobody comes out
The tire shop has always been here. The apartment building behind it is new but already dreaming of being old. It has the look of something that has decided to stay. By Tuesday it will have a plaque. By Thursday, geese.
How did it end?
The walk took all day which was the right amount of time. Nothing was resolved, which was not the goal. The city didn't look up and there was still much to be done and none of it was urgent, which is a thing Sunday occasionally permits.
The goal was the light and the bricks and the geese and whatever the fish are doing. That was enough. It's already Sunday again somewhere.
Untitled Columbus is an ongoing series. All photographs taken on foot, downtown, with no plan.