The sun comes out shining in the park. Wet grass of yesterday rain sparkles in the sunlight. The indulgent warmth from the sun lures quite a few people to the park in a Friday morning.
A little boy in his blue rain boots jumps up and down in a puddle. He stops to stare curiously at me when I run past waving him. A little cutie. As I heard Sarah Kay’s Spoken Word Poem “B” yesterday, the rain boots make me think of silliness and broken hearts. He still has plenty of time to enjoy the puddle fun before some can possibly break his heart. The little cutie.
At the entrance of the park, there is a drinking water fountain for thirsty wanderers. Today a man uses it to wash his clothes. Three plastic bags are full of clothes. He patiently put one after one under the tiny flow of water to soak them clean. I wonder how long it would him to wash them all. He is there when I get in and still there when I get out. What is his story? What goes through his mind when he does his laundry in a park among many passers-by?
What is the story of a guy who mediate in the park under the sun. I envy him. My head occupies with worries and anxieties. I find it hard to set them aside to sit still enjoying the warmth and the beauty of a sunny day. I choose to run until I am out of breath, and until my eyes water from the cold and the exhaustion. That is how I clear my mind of the bad stuff, and fill it with the good. I know it’s a beautiful day.
nightcactus 