I pulled over because of the light mostly —

I pulled over because of the light, mostly —

that flat gray-pink the sky gets

before it decides to go dark,

the color of something trying not to be noticed.

The park was empty.

One swing still going —

not much, just that slow

dying arc, a few inches forward,

a few back,

the chain twisted once at the top

so the seat hung at an angle

like a thought

not quite finished.

I left the engine running.

There was no wind I could feel.

I put my hand out the window

and there was nothing,

just cold,

just the smell of cut grass

and the end of October.

The swing kept going.

I sat there maybe ten minutes,

maybe more,

trying to figure out

what I was waiting for it to stop doing,

or start.

I couldn't tell you now

what I thought it was finishing.

Something, probably.

Some small thing that needed

to reach the end of its motion

before anyone walked away.