a garden, waiting
We are sitting in Rittenhouse Park eating lunch and wishing the trees were not bare. The weather is starting to warm, and we are eating mediocre sandwiches from the chain bagel shop around the corner, hoping we finish before the rain (which has been threatening all day) finally begins. I look at him and I know that something feels different, something feels like it is finding its place in a kind of certainty I have not allowed before. I am trying to appreciate this transitional moment for what it is, trying to accept that I don’t know the future, but I am committing to something, to hold on to something, in the face of change.
Later, I’m crossing Market and admiring the long, straight line it carves through the city. Lines are never this straight, transitions rarely this sharp and well defined. I wish sometimes that time behaved more like space. I wish it were easier to see the end-result from the midpoint.
Like a perhaps hand, I am arranging my window, re- framing my view. If only I knew what to change to make things look just…so.