It was stray conversation
\nin the year of nowhere.
\nAn evening whose sky was not blue
\nor gray,
\nin the middle of summer.
\nSunday,
\nthat day preceding the obligations
\nof Monday.
\nMary and I,
\nlooking down at the ducks
\nfrom a wooden terrace at Antrim Park.<\/p>\n
This story begins and ends
\nlooking at ducks,
\nand walking around the lake.
\nIt was crowded with men and women,
\nchildren on bikes,
\njoggers,
\na few fishermen trying their luck.
\nThe woods was dark and thick
\nalong the lane,
\nthe lane itself wide enough for everyone.<\/p>\n
The sun cast bronze on the water.
\nEveryone watched everyone else.
\nEveryone was timeless.
\nWe shared one purpose.
\nIn walking, life stopped here.
\nSwinging arms, moving legs,
\nsharing or keeping distant,
\na one-time always returning breath,
\nleaving oneself behind,
\nfollowing like a shadow.<\/p>\n
A family of people,
\na path that for this moment
\nhas these faces,
\nthese groups and individuals
\ncoming together.
\nAnd in my musing,
\nbefore I sleep,
\nnext year if next year comes,
\ncan I say,
\nI saw you there?
\nMy family of strangers,
\nstrolling around Antrim Park,
\nsaying hello with side-long glances,
\nMary and I,
\nenjoying your company.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It was stray conversation in the year of nowhere. An evening whose sky was not blue or gray, in the middle of summer. Sunday, that…<\/p>\n