A Hand Reaching for the Window
Beyond I no longer need to trace that crack with my fingertips. Near the end of spring, someone sitting by the window of a bus passing that wall turned their head. New leaves were coming out through the crack. Where that bus passed, the ivy is now reaching its hand toward the other window as well.
The season passing through that gap lingered at the window a while, then left. I too was standing before an old wall, watching sunlight brush the leaves.