We saw or felt or heard or smelled or sensed something we’d never seen or felt or heard or smelled or sensed before. Due to our inexperience with this kind of experience, we had no vocabulary for it, though we tried. “Soft,” my sister said. “Powerful,” I suggested. “Perfume-y,” my sister attempted. “Redolent of dirt,” I embellished. “What does ‘redolent’ mean?” She was a less devoted student of the Internet, and thus still ignorant. The park stretched before us and behind us. From this vantage, I could hardly believe in the city that smushed up against its concrete borders. The park’s groves had been planted with precision, yet at this time of year the variety in the leaves’ shades of orange and pink lent them a satisfying randomness. In any case, this thing my sister and I encountered in the park changed the park. The park was always utterly still, its gleaming lawns green and unmoving, its groves brilliant and still, its ponds still and green with algae, clouds of purple asters hovering still and silent.
