Along these paths in the park Dec. 17, 2024

 

They walk away along asphalt paths, hands in pockets against the sudden chill, some with silver hair and deep wrinkles, other still too young to even drink, this morning ritual in the par each need to take part in, most alone, slightly bewilders, taking these strides before the real chill season comes, their lives, our lives, part of an endless routine, of pointless movement they/we feel compelled to respect, if not from tearing the pages off a calendar, then from simply putting another day behind, each step another day.

I watch them pass the place where I sit in this park, the bench I have adopted, an audience of one, watching this play of life on a stage we do not recognize as such, all playing out 

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