A shimmering blade of grass tickles my cheek as I sprawl across the dewy lawn. I close my eyes and hear children squeal and scream a few meters away. A quick, brisk breeze sends tingles like spiders down my spine. I hate and love these kinds of days. Sitting under my favorite tree, the big one with all the ants and cicada shells inhabiting it, and just… relaxing. Enjoying the outdoors behind closed eyes.
The park has some kind of mystic appeal to me, especially on these somewhat warm, yet breezy summer days. I come here to relax, to empty my forever hard-at-work mind of all fret and just lie in the sun, soaking up the rays while my mind sits vacant. Or some days I’ll bring my worn notebook and a pen and furiously write away at my novella. I’ll kick on my iPod and get whisked away in writing and the not so soothing sounds of bands like Bleeding Through or Nirvana. There’s nothing like Kurt Cobain wailing in the background while another page and a half get added to my story. Truly Nirvana. The great thing about the park is that I don’t have to worry about my mom barging in, trying to “clean,” and nag me about having my music up so loud. Here no one cares how loud I blare “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “On Wings Of Lead.” Everyone’s doing their own thing, whether it be walking their Dalmatians or swinging on the swings or playing a competitive game of volleyball in the sandpit. It’s like the world is on hyper-drive around me, blurs of what appear to be neighbors whizzing by while I stay stationary in my little spot under the sun.
Summer is about the only time I ever get to enjoy the beauty of nature. The fall and the winter are much too cold for my liking and my dang allergies like to act up in the spring when everything is blooming. Plus, when I’m not working, I’ve got nothing going on in the summer. I remember when I was little my mom and I would walk up here from our apartment a little less than a mile away and I would have a ball on the playground. I’d always want to go play in the sandpit, but she would never let me, saying that she didn’t want me tracking sand inside when we got home. I’d be sad for a minute or so, but then find something else appealing to do with my time. When I got a little bit older, I’d ride my scooter up here and sit under my self-proclaimed tree. I’d read a book, probably some edition in the Harry Potter series, and sip on a soda that I’d bring from home. I’d always lose track of time, and suddenly dusk would fall upon me, my cue to book it home before mom had a stroke. I’d end up going back the next day to continue where I left off. I’ve always love this park; it’s been a part of me since as long as I can remember, and will always remain a part of me until the day I die.
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