Yesterday

Yesterday, I thought of him as I walked across campus under the shade of tall trees. It was almost noon and I knew you would be awake, thinking of him too.



His slow, deliberate manner when telling a story.

The way he unfolded himself as he stood.

How gaunt his face seemed near the end.

The oaks and maples on campus were planted in the 30's. Someone calculated the correct depth and dug a wide hole. He, for it was surely a he, supplemented the soil with compost and watered deeply the first time. The trees were treated tenderly throughout their first year, and perhaps longer, for droughts came often in that decade.


The caretakers are gone, but the trees have grown tall and cast a deep shade.

Endings.  People leave before you are ready, no matter how much time you have to prepare. Then the long night of missing begins.