January 30, Newburgh, Downing Park. Low sun reveals structures in the snow cover on the frozen lake. Park bench under weeping willow. The snow hides the paths, people walk where they remember the paths were, and different walkers had different memories. I sit on the bench and think thoughts that will take me decades, and wait for the sunset.

It’s like the park has no place in this city. The mere idea of a leisurely walk seems absurd. But I know myself: two or three sunsets, two or three times on the same bench, would be enough to gain ground.