Walking in the park
my back to the mountains
the branches of a tree tug at my jacket
Telling me I'm snug in
A paddock where I can let out my feelings
one by one
and let them frolic and wail
my ideas flow, familiar and close
In the creek at my feet
Jays signal their disdain for red-tails
And squirrels chit from some branch
over my head
But they don't judge
the process of creation
Here, there is both sun and shade
today the morning is cool
and I pick sun
The water runs along one edge
And opposite,
a barn, a gazebo, a playground, a roller hockey rink
All quiet
I look down at my feet and find myself
not losing my way
When I look up
a dog walker appears in the distance
Children on swings
stick to their arc in the air
Moms are too busy with their orbit
All seem to collude in my ramble
If I turn west toward the Rockies—
There lies majesty and breadth
this is the open space
flat like a green and brown sea leading up to ravaged cliffs
with only buoys of thistle to break the line
until the hard stop of lime- and sand-stone
This is recreation
Exposed to the elements:
walkers, joggers, cyclists, skateboarders,
Frisbee golfers, dog walkers, child walkers,
cricket players
Here we work out
this is breathing out out out
pushing your heart until it bursts
not listening to its quiet murmurings.
The distant mountains
a goal
a mark of an end point
yet of a beginning
Calling out,
“Just wait until you get to our stone foot
then you will know true noble human endeavor
real outdoor rigor!”
Everyone wondering, Who is more worthy?
And the lake is a horizontal mirror
reflecting open sky
it is endless and—
too late—
I've put myself out there
I am exposed
The high school across from the water
bursts over a rousing game of baseball
prairie dogs dart across the pavement
from one hole to another—
The ground beneath my feet
is all on edge—
A busy street ahead makes way for brazen cars and trucks
Apartments open to let out folks to work, to
play
Kids meander to school,
their parents in tow.
Yes I am exposed,
And I'll face the west again
You can look for me
Out in the open
For here the wind blows
And chaps the skin
and the irritation of rough use
leads to toughness
and acting
out.
But these days please don't look for me
near the running of a creek,
it's water capturing the air in small musical leaps,
nor in the embrace of willows
that blur the edges
and bid me rest easy
in my mind.
For here lies
the selfish center of inspiration.