The Other Way

I like that my morning walk to the treed lane where I’ve parked the truck presents a choice…
Do I march, like a drone headed to work, following the sidewalk?
Do I cut across the park, instead?

Chose the way across the park, this morning. Most mornings, actually, when I drive.

Followed, that little less dronelike, the short twist of sidewalk. This twist inefficiently and playfully twisting, like every good park path should, it twisted me so I’d notice. Even as I rushed. Beneath maples. Passing the green. And weeds I call flowers. Crowding bright dandelions tilting their faces to the sun.

Two park benches, here, where the twisting path stops, and I leave it. Here, I step into sand and slow. A playground. Wooden fort and slide shining silver in the morning. And swingset: the chains darkened by many small hands.

I like that I cross a playground on my way to work.