Bench

Sitting on a bench, in this "big city" park,
Anonymous, in the way you can only be
In such a big city. Mid-November feels like
September. Sunshine, warm emough to take off
My coat. Women in lycra running through the
Leaves. Constant backdrop of traffic noise,
And the occasional squeal of brakes. Old trees.
Old. This park here more than four hundred years.
Was a park before the city enclosed it. These
Trees standing sentinel to the changes, day after
Year after decade. Between me and the traffic,
If I listen carefully, the sound of trees. A
Steady rustle, as the breeze dances
Big brown leaves and small branches.
Standing sentinel to an unfolding world, and
Silently holding this space. We pass by without
Notice mostly. I notice now. Breathe it in.
Trees; Park; Centuries.