A thick trunk splits into several forks at the center of the frame, and the branches stretch out low to the left and right, past the edge of the photograph. Moss clings to the bark in patches, and something like a green shrub grows on top of it. It is midday.
Light falling through the leaves makes patches on the ground, and the grass to the right of the tree is bright enough to dazzle. The soil around the roots, out of the sun's reach, has settled into brown.
Standing under a tree like this, the neck tips back first. The chin lifts as you look up, and the shoulders open backward on their own. The soil underfoot is firmer than the grass, and a little cool.
A hurrying mind falls out of step here. This tree must have taken a hundred years to push that one branch out sideways, and the person standing beneath it is counting down to an appointment five minutes from now.
You might walk one loop with the trunk at the center. Close enough for your fingertips to brush the bark, moving your feet so they don't catch on the roots. About halfway around, the bright grass you saw earlier passes behind your back and your view darkens.
Once you have seen with your own eyes the point where the texture of the shade changes, the loop is over. It doesn't take long.
The same walk can be carried over to the evening dishes. In place of a loop around the sink, shift your weight slowly from your left foot to your right while you wash a single dish, and check the tension in your jaw as you do. Whether your teeth clench as the water gets louder, or your mouth falls open a little.
The branch tips are still growing toward somewhere, and the shade beneath them shifts its seat little by little this afternoon too.
