a journey, man.

The iron gates slammed behind me. I start walking. A calm, relaxing pace, enjoying the old oak trees as I pass each large residence. The tall perimeter fences keeping people out or in, depending on the owner’s preference. Several people working on their gardens take a glance up at me, only to look busy again, quickly. A gaggle of children explore the playground, the pause just long enough to sense my departure and wave, blank-faced. A brisk wind sends a shiver simmering down my spine to my toes. I bundle up my jacket. My pace remains steady. The pavement guiding my course.

The journey halted, the pavement ends. Houses and neighbors gone, only the textural greens of a meadow lie before me. Some trees grace the landscape, but mostly grasses, weeds, and a small creature bounds in the distance. A faint path fades in and out. I take off my shoes, take a step. The grass, slightly worn in this particular spot, cushions my naked feet. A few timid steps before a quick turn of my head. Briefly my mind shifts to the passed journey. The lessons, the life, a path, now run dry. My focus returns to the inviting greens. I run. No more looking back, no more regrets. In no particular direction. A reviving wind, a lack of breath, each stretch of my leg longer than the last. At full speed. My feet freely roam space previously unknown. A bliss. Stop.

Someone else. A tree has caught his fancy. He explores the roots, the bark. He then hikes up a single leg and stretches into the tree. A branch aids his climb. He reaches towards the end of a particularly sought after branch. The subject pulls off a leaf, rubs it between his fingers, stares at it in the light, sniffs it, bites a piece off. His thorough arbor inspection reminds me of my own questions. The experience a joyful one, expressed by teeth gleaming through his smile. He catches a glimpse of me watching. An immediately friendly gesture. I wave back. That seems to be enough. We continue on in our respective explorations. My eyes roam the open space looking for that path. And yet, it has disappeared. My mind wanders, the wonders, then awakens once again: there are still others here. On the horizon, among the weeds, under shade, amidst green, jog, stroll, still – others beyond mine eye. Life living. A peace.

A group, together, free, open. In the liberty between each other, more life to live. In the green space, a grace unknown to the ‘hood before. A tribunal nature, forgives and gives and forgets and gets closer to one another, a fresh culture. Life among the weeds, the dying, the dead, the living, the grieving, the thriving, the succeeding in however you establish it – a purely natural green for pruning and purposed existence. Sprouting, budding, growing, morphing, transforming, evolving: the meadow of love, the marvel of life.