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It was our favorite spot on the library’s third floor
A floor to ceiling picture window
It gave us a private view of the park next door
A bird’s eye view of the world

In the fall
We leaned on each other and counted the leaves
as they flew by

In winter
You said it was so quiet you could hear
each soft flake hit the glass

In spring
I laughed as knee high baseball players
Swung from their heels

In summer
We watched barefoot librarians eat their bench lunches
Eyes closed while tapping their toes

Last month you moved away
Now I find the picture window has been replaced with a wall
So I no longer walk above the second floor
Nor believe in coincidences

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