It is a cool day, with pale light and a strong breeze. The topmost branches of the trees are set to dancing, and leaves drift to the ground as they are shaken from their perches.
The sun is drifting behind clouds, but a stronger yellow light is beginning to touch the bushes, strengthening the leaves, warming the air. It does them good, and they are happier for it.
Underneath the bushes, hidden by waxy green leaves and bare, woody vines, there is a fence. It lurks in the shadows, it's metal links almost invisible against the pattern of fallen leaves on the ground behind it. Deeper in behind the fence, there appears to be free space, perhaps enough one might walk, only a little hunched over.
Further still, beyond the other side of the bushes, something pale can be seen. The leaves and branches are so many and so close together that whatever it is cannot be quite discerned. It is a very light, whitish, tannish color, compared with the deep green through which it peers - perhaps of new concrete. Or perhaps it is a stretch of dirt, and the gleaming line that I can spy is the railroad tracks whose lone trafficker is the cause of many a tiny quake in our small apartment. The rumblings can be heard and felt no matter where you move to. Now the track is silent, and if that is what I can see through the leaves, it beckons. What would it be like to climb over that chain-link fence, duck under the bushes and between the tree trunks, and emerge on a slight incline, train tracks stretching to forever in either direction?
And if I were to choose left or right, and began to walk, where would I end up?
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