| | There's a little park quite close to where I work. Stacey pointed it out.
The park has tennis courts, a baseball field, a huge octagon pavilion with square picnic tables inside, a trail that takes 11 minutes to walk at a pleasant pace, and a fabulous playground that focuses on one's ability to balance. And also contains a rock wall that is at least 10 or 12 feet high - enough even for an average sized adult to hurt themselves if they fall. O_O
Just outside the tennis courts, there is another slab of concrete with four posts at the corners that lead up to a "roof" that has no more than four or five planks running across it - certainly nothing at all to keep off the elements, making one wonder what purpose such a frame could serve. On the slab rest two regular picnic tables, the kind that are plastic coated metal and look like diamond shaped chocolate covered pretzels. It's here that I've found my new sanctuary.
Ever since last summer or so, I've been cultivating a habit of making time for quiet time in the morning. I seem physically unable to do this in my own home - it has to be in a coffee shop or by the river downtown or some other such haven. So I either purchase or make a cup of coffee and find a table or rock where I can settle with my Bible, journal, pen, and iPod.
I don't sit under the pavilion at this park because there is a summer kids' program that meets there in the mornings and I don't want to seem like a child snatcher. "Those religious nuts. Can't trust 'em." I always hated those summer camps. I don't do well when people try to make me have fun against my will and in ways that I don't concoct.
When I arrive each morning, the sun is just coming up over the tops of the trees and hits me (lovingly) in the face, since the "roof" does so little to block its rays. The sky still has the taste of early morning to it. There are usually some people playing tennis and men (one at a time, but I've never seen the same man twice) who drive a truck around in the grass, presumably fixing or cleaning things. The playground is just far enough away that the screams from the day care offer white noise and not a distraction. The cars come and go, dropping off kids or parking to let their occupants walk/jog/dog the trail. The picket fence across the street gives the whole affair a feeling of being deep in the country, while in reality, you're a mere five minutes from one of the busiest hubs in the city.
And so I sit. Sometimes I accomplish nothing more than a few minutes of peace of mind, but somehow, even that seems worth it.
|
| | Posted 7/7/2009 11:34 PM - 6 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
- recommend
  - recs0
- share
- email
 - sent0
|
