The park in the summer

I promised myself I would not turn into a navel-gazing self-involved blow hard. So you will either forgive me or skip this post.

Summer meant the end of school. It meant the end pretending to pay attention. Summer meant the ability to physically move. Don't get me wrong I went to school when Phys. Ed was mandatory. Young people have quick silver running their veins not blood only being allowed to move for prescribe period of time is torture. Summer meant not having to parse and understand what my classmates meant when they cracked a joke or told a story.

Summer meant the park not just any park but "THE PARK" Inwood Hill Park. Inwood Hill Park once the home to Shorakapok Native Americans who called Inwood Hill home up until the 17th century. Go to Inwood today follow the trail up to the caves and you can see drawings made by the members of the Shorakapok tribe. You can pick up shards of pottery and other clues to the past. History of Inwood Hill Park

Inwood has a particular perfume in the summer. The grass smells so sweet and lush that it is impossible not roll around. Flowers peak out and snatch your glance before a bumble bee crosses your path letting you know the bee and not you had the right of way. Running up and down the hill felt like the opportunity for us humans to spontaneously evolve and sprout wings to fly. The pond with its brackish water home to ducks, geese, egrets and other avian denizens haughtily line up waiting see who will bring the best seeds, breads and other tasty treats.

And as I stood in the park, the concrete jungle would always disappear, I would look up a hawk and an American Eagle were vying for some dinner.  Time felt like a paradox after an entire day of sun the gloaming shadows transformed the park into Little Red Riding Hoods adventure. The fireflies, lightening bugs would pop and show a flash as they sought each other out to mate. I would lay on the grass intently staring at the flowers watching as they miraculously closed up shop for the evening. The next day I would run back to the park lay in the same spot to watch the same flower open up and greet the sun.


In the distance the sound of competing baseball games on the huge playing field would waft down like a soft drone. The bat connecting with the ball allowed me to keep track of the game without watching.

When I was sufficiently tired from running like a wild child. I would head to the swings. My heart pumping harder than my legs I knew I had to get higher I needed to touch the sky the clouds were made of cotton candy and I knew that if I could just taste it once that the park would live forever. When my arms and legs would give out after an hour I would let the momentum rock me back and forth. My mind would spin out, what would I be when I grew up. Would I be able to swing? Why didn't adults use the swings in the park. Why were boys and girls always hiding in the bushes kissing.

Then my stomach would throw a full mutinous rebellion hunger would always win and then it would be time to go home. To take a shower and let the water rinse away the day's experience. I would lie in bed in anticipation because tomorrow we would go back to the park.

If I could do it all over again, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat scabbed knees, scratches, bug bites and all.