I walk through the park nearly every morning
on my way to work. The birds are already
milling about, waiting somewhat patiently
to receive their daily ration of bread. Two
dogs frolic on the green, their master a statue
of open pleasure with his smile fixed neatly
in place. It’s almost summer and the heat
rises off the cobblestones and pavement.
A couple on the bench anticipate their late
night rendezvous with some preliminary
kissing, comfortable with the anonymity
offered by a crowd and oblivious to any
potential onlookers. There’s always so many
people passing through on their way to
somewhere, hurrying along like the tatooed
man who jogs swiftly past. The leaves
are already here, but lost in thought or busy
about my own plans I hardly ever notice their
gradual approach, happening every year
despite attempts to remind myself otherwise.
