Door upon door upon door. An unceasing progression to everywhere, and nowhere. And yet each glimpse off the everlasting corridor reveals a moment…

Flash! I am eight or nine. The maple and elm tower over the dirt trail that leads from the playground in Douglas Park. Dappled light though the canopy illuminates patches of the undergrowth in a golden grow. Robins, Bluejays and finches compete, as squirrels scamper up and down. After the long walk amidst the forested path, the manucured lawns of Sleepy Hollow Cemetary’s upper hill await.

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