“Though we may all look at the same things, it does not all follow that we should see them.”
John Lubbock, The Beauties of Nature and the Wonders of the World We Live in
For years, I passed this park, ignorant of its existence.
Then, I rode far. Needed to pause, rehydrate, eat a snack, and smoke a bowl.
Ethereal, the place materialized, sprung from the riverbank, and tugged my handlebars to the right.
Sunlight slanted through the trees, their leaves rustling overhead, steeling the air like a bridge’s cable, tethering this spot to the real world. The other end, tautly shackled to the unknown. What sound would it make if plucked? I wondered.
Frameless windows framed an empty drain field, far enough from the bike path to feel dangerous. There, pigmented concrete canvases filled the void, one column-slab at a time. I resisted the urge to plunge my fingernails and allow the substratum to meet fresh air again, warm against the sunlight.
Everything deserves that, at least.
Occasionally, other people ambled into the dreamscape. Many colorful, like these walls. Like me. I identified with their awkwardness. Their desire to be different; to give the world the middle finger.
Satiated, it was time to set with the sun. I stepped across the threshold and escaped back into the real world. Whatever the fuck that means.
Click.
Swish.
Push.
Whoosh.
Sizzle.
In rotation, I made a mental note to revisit before we moved. Soak up its vaporous messages one last time.
Mindfulness, eluded.
