The trees in the park are darkening into blue. Three streetlamps have switched on their orange light one after another, and beneath them a couple walks side by side along the path. On a bench to the left, someone sits with a dog, and the grass in the foreground still holds a little of the day's green.
Look at a photograph like this long enough and your shoulders quietly drop. The tension in your jaw lets go, and your eyes lose their focus on a single point on the screen and spread out wide. Your breath, which had been moving in short passes at the tip of your nose, descends a hand's width toward your belly.
All day long the mind kept leaning toward the next thing to do. There is no such lean in the backs of those two people. Theirs is not a walk taken because there is somewhere to arrive, but something closer to a walk that, for as long as it lasts, needs no arrival.
Around sunset, step outside and walk for just three minutes. Set no destination, and go half a beat slower than usual. It is enough to watch the streetlamps come on once and then turn back.
In the evening as the lights come on one by one, the path quietly goes on being there.
