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it
was a journey of many steps. not too slow but
considered, making
steady progress but allowing ourselves to fall
into time traps--places
where past dramas reveal themselves in ways so
obvious you could trip
over them. how many decades and passersby
witnessed this slow motion
upheaval of spreading roots as they swelled and
shrugged the sidewalk
out of alignment? when was the tipping point
reached that a citizen
complained about the uneven surface? who
dispatched the crew that
applied asphalt to smooth the transitions, hot tar
perfuming the air? what
hands gripped the chainsaw that bit through the
trunk, leaving only a stump
at a now exposed corner in this leafy neighborhood
of riverfront esplanades
and the ample
swards of 19th century mansions where i
imagine horses once
grazed before motor cars took over and stables
became garages. looking back
through worn spots in the fabric of time in a
country that's always reinventing
itself, maybe it's the
river, though never the
same, that is the least
changed. |
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