Friday, October 23rd, 2020

I haven’t walked through this park, north of my apartment and south of the House of a Hundred Grandmothers, in several months. The few times that I have gone to the House, I have either come from different directions or have been walking after dark, when the park is closed. It’s quiet this afternoon. I would expect to see families, but none are around. On the grass near the entrance, two young women are sitting and reading. They may be having a picnic. There are no dogs. The garden is barren, but it often is when the caretakers are changing the flowers for a new season. The fruit of the giraffe tree, as large as my head, hangs in clusters from its branches. None has fallen yet. I don’t continue to the House when I leave the park. It’s Friday afternoon. I’m going to the small supermarket to the left before it closes for the Sabbath. The shop is crowded with people doing last-minute shopping. I find everything that I need there: white cheese, sliced cheese, hummus, eggs, apples, peppers, pecans, and the first pomelo of the season. My aisle moves quickly. The other one is slower. The cashier there is babbling a monologue in English that I can’t follow. I get the sense that her customers are used to her doing this. They nod on occasion. No one seems rushed. Everyone has allocated enough time to do what they need. After I head out, I realize that I forgot to get challah. I still have much of last week’s. It’s slightly stale, but sufficient to eat with tonight’s supper. The park is still open when I get there. I walk back through it. It is still quiet. I see one cat, but it darts under the bushes when I get near it. The women are still on the grass. They are playing a board game. From a distance, I can’t tell which one.