The tall, old tree

towers over us.

Its branches fan out overhead,

protecting,

filtering sunlight.

Heads are bowed.

Hands scribble furiously.

Pencils scratch lightly.

Soft murmurs break out

among students.

To our right,

workers in their

bright excavators rumble down

the dark road.

Disrupting.

On the side of life,

time flows,

people pass through.

To our left,

dominoes stand still,

gleaming under the bright sun,

never to move.

Silent.

On the side of death,

time stops,

and stays.

We sit between.

The line that separates

the living,

and the dead.

We sit

Between.