The old man who works in his garden three houses down is “our old man.” The café where we get pumpkin scones on Tuesday mornings is “our café.” Those scones are “our scones.” That song by Fleetwood Mac is “our song” and so is that one by LL Cool J. I took my friend Sarah to the auto parts store on Eighty-Second Avenue so she could get a new battery for her car. You seemed upset when I told you, but you said that nothing was wrong. Finally, before we went to bed, you said, “I can’t believe you took her to our auto parts store.” … We forgot about nature sometimes. In the park, lying in the grass, it felt perfect and peaceful. The grass was so green, almost garish. It seemed exotic. “Come over here and feel this,” you said. I lifted my head to see you by a tall knobby tree. “I’ve touched a tree before,” I said. “When was the last time you touched a tree?” you asked. “Probably last week.” I shrugged. “I doubt it,” you said. You were right. We see trees all the time but never touch them.
