Marks On The Sidewalk

The marks scurried here and there, spread out over a busy corner. Laid down by utility workers in a  language of symbols and colors, it's a language that I cannot understand.  Such a cacophony of marks, some following the direction of the paving stones, others  making a break for it on a diagonal, all of it punctuated  by the manhole cover. I thought about those mysterious earth formations high in the mountains of South America that some people insist were made by aliens and left as messages to future visitors. But now I see the pavement as stitched marks in big chunky yarns on top of pieced blocks. Perhaps it's time to add some florescent orange to my stash of fibers...