To walk in a painting, to feel the air brush of light, to soak in quenching birdsong and see what grew of sun and rain... the park is the hands that open my book and lets me see the words upon my pages.
The comfort of the black bench, warm from the steady sun, is a place to absorb the beauty of the park, the beauty of a joyful community at play.
Each day my dreams fly among the treetops of the park and learn how to sing as with the beauty of the birds.
The park held a small surprise in her palm each day, from a caterpillar to the song of a bird, or the people who chose to live a part of their lives in that green space.
The trees that root so deep and reach so high, that take in the rain and bring the gifts of verdant foliage upon brown wands - they are my friends, my anchors in emotional waters. They are the park. They are the beauty. They are what brings serene reverence when I have the need.
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