There is a man in a park in the neighborhood I live in. He is a fascinating human. My love of writing and photographer has gotten me in this mess. To observe and watch all of his actions and the park itself. The mystery of why he sits there still st...
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There's a man who sits at a bench in between the meadow and lake. He sits there staring at, both, the lake and the meadow. He watches the flowers bloom in the spring, watch them thirst for water in summer, begin to struggle in the fall and wither in the winter, to start all over and repeat. As he watches the meadow, he hears the thunder of the clouds looming over everything in the spring and the nails of rain hit the water. He hears the cheers of joy of children as they holler "I caught a fish! Look, I caught a fish!" and their parents always say back "I'm proud of you." in the summer. He hears the cars, the bikes, and their feet crunching the leaves in the pathway in the fall. He hears the lake freezes over when winter occurs. He hears the ice skates on many feet. The way they slowly and softly cut the ice of the frozen lake. Then hears everything of the lake once again. There's a man who sits at a bench in between the meadow and the lake. He watches the meadow as he listens to the lake.
