Murargatan: Uppsala, Sweden

Maja used to say, “Thank you for today.” From her I learned everyone’s old and young at once.

At night in snow near Maja’s bus-stop on Maja’s basic street— Murargatan means street of bricks—wild rabbits sometimes paused like caesuras in Swedish conversation. I waited.

I felt wiser after leaving Maja’s house. Life itself was a tutorial. I’d gathered no facts. My Swedish wasn't much better. Nonetheless ... .

The night-bus back to the University from Maja’s place seemed hopeful and lonely, cold and bright, safe and desperate. Uppsala— winter, night. Nonetheless.