A delivery truck speeds by. A man crosses the street with a bag lunch. In the distance, a woman and child hold hands. In the foreground, a tattoo parlor waits for its next customer, reflecting the convergence of activities in its shop window.
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I mostly visit my tree in the morning. I’m not even sure what it looks like in the afternoon. I pretty much avoid the park late in the day unless it’s summer. Then, a long walk at dusk is the perfect thing to do. I never visit it in the afternoon—I’m not sure why not. The tree has a darker presence in the evening, a foreboding and looming shape at dusk. In the morning it stands tall and regal, casting a deep shadow onto the path where I pass by it. The halo formed by the low, morning sun lifts the tree upward, making it seem taller and more substantial.