reading under the trees

i feel like the big secrets hide in little rituals. close to sunset, i've been going to read at my local park. i leave my work, my worries, and my anxieties behind the sound of the thud of my apartment door. i try to look at the park like i'm looking at it for the first time. a skill i've picked up from birdwatching. i find my spot, usually under a tree. i was under a big fig tree today, laying on my back on the grass beneath. before i open my book, i notice the sound of life. kids laughing, families catching up, figbirds, currawongs' evening call, the sound of a man exerting himself. i also notice the fig tree's branches as i look up. they feel like arteries. there are families on the ground, and there are families and generations on these branches, too. as i read, time passes. the earth moves in its orbit for the multi-trillionth time. but here i am, a human in this time and place, still on the ground, my mind and heart wandering away. escaping the natural orbit of the evening. i…