This summer Ive been walking to a small neighborhood park on the east side of St. Paul. Once a week I take my lunch, I sit and read, I watch people come and go.
There is an old woman in a wheelchair, and a man some years younger who sits beside her, reading aloud from a very long book. In the heat of summer, they sat in the shade of the trees on the lawn. As autumn has drawn near, they have moved to a sunny bench.
She leans toward him in her chair, head angled so that her ear is close to his voice. His finger is tracing the words on the page. I think about the intimacy that comes with reading in that way over the course of a summer. I wonder what world they are sharing together in this moment.
I finish my lunch and notice these milkweed seeds quivering in the breeze at the edge of the park. Before heading back to work I take a few minutes to consider them as well.