I appreciate simple days. Days non-taxing to the soul.
Days I can sit at the park, evaluate thoughts, and perhaps put them to paper.
But where to start?
In the distance, sirens wail.
What’s the recent tragedy or offense?
Hush, stay at the park.
It’s hot, and the air is thick. Yet, less heavy than indoors.
I sit barefoot atop a bench.
More days should be whimsical.
A woman approaches, joining me under the shelter.
Choosing a nearby table, she proceeds to listen to the news.
It’s loud. Intrusive to thought.
Her phone rings, and she banters on about her day.
I’m annoyed.
Must you disturb my peace. Must you impose on my quiet.
Were we meant to digest the pain of the world? Our own pain, sometimes too much to bear.
The constant absorption of suffering… to no avail. What’s that do to a soul?
The world tells you how to live, how to look, how to govern yourself.
But the world is flawed.
A broken space of people in need.
Of people more interested in likes, comments, and retweets, than progress… Whether personal, or of greater-good.
And the ones that care grow weary.
The woman’s call ends abruptly, and it’s quiet once more.
The wind blows from the east, gently brushing against my skin.
Stay grounded, stay present.
Fifth of October 