Michele Feltman Strider@michelestrider@mastodon.social
Not one to pass up cilantro, you join the queue for the taco truck. A man is cutting fresh limes. A cute kid goes down the line offering samples of aguas frescas. No one holds things up by taking selfies with the truck logo. It's perfect.
You order and get your food slap-fast. Chilled Jamaica in hand, you look for a place to sit.
You can squeeze in with the picnic table tech types, parklet grass hippies, or umbrella-standing-table gaming enthusiasts. Or sit by yourself, under a friendly tree.
Michele Feltman Strider@michelestrider@mastodon.social
You situate yourself on an accommodating root of a sprawling tree. Craggy-old, it's seen some stuff.
You take a healthy bite of burrito, and a wide, red-gold leaf falls in your lap. Another on your head. Then all over you.
Odd. It's springtime.
A squirrel scampers down the trunk, waves at you, and skips down the clean-but-not-too-clean sidewalk. Upright, on two feet.
The tree branches shake again, tossed by a nonexistent wind. The rustling sounds like ancient words. Leaves fall only on you.
