At the end of the day I stand at a rain-streaked window. My eyes wander across the train tracks and through the five towering black walnut trees that line the edge of the park, to the silver water beyond. The portal into the park is a narrow path that runs between the first two walnuts. It follows a slight decline and the trees’ protruding roots form rough steps in the dirt. Their bark is craggy and deeply scored. The space between those trees resonates with time and the many heartbeats that have passed through it, including mine again and again.
out to a world made new
by heat and light.
from “April Chores” by Jane Kenyon