It’s strange, but somehow this song is all the songs at once.

Perhaps the tree and I are connected. Perhaps she was waiting on me.

There is a stillness in the air and time moves strangely. Like she’s waiting, holding her breath. For me? I’m not sure.

One thing, though, I know. This quarter, its metal ice-cold from the cool California weather, had traveled more than 3,000 miles in that pocket, sitting there after I no doubt picked it up from a New York City street.