With sweet nostalgia hanging in the air, the winds pick up and spread it through the park like butter on toast. Orchestrating the poplars' subtle and routine symphony, the winds travel, leaving a slight coolness in their wake. A clue to their presence. The over-powering scent of familiarity lingers and invades the senses, prompting a catharsis. A feeling reaches deep into the soul and reacts. The product, being of a something...of two somethings, perhaps, unknown.

In response, the heart skips a beat, jostling the distracted mind awake and alert to the surroundings. Opening the eyes.

And you notice, quite suddenly, how alive the world around you really is. Like the curtain opening to a show. And an array of beautiful notions dart to and fro, as if attempting to escape your understanding and into the wind that journeys; even through the tiniest blades of the grass at your feet. If an idea could only wander from one spot to another, like the sound of children's laughter echoing between the old trees. If one pure thought could escape and find host in another, would that not be a beautiful thing? Or for the indomitable affection of two lovers sitting at a park bench to trickle over and illuminate the heart of the old man passing by. If only beauty and love be so easily given and not so easily taken.

The gentle fluttering of wings breaks concentration, as a nearby dove settles upon a low branch that is set to swinging. From its perch, the park must seem smaller as it watches the people move amongst the greenery, ignorant to its presence above. Save one. A face, upturned. A soul reaching out for an understanding of beauty's very nature and being met by the gaze of a single, white dove.

I feel the warmth in my heart,
And it reminds me of our very first visit to the park.
It was a beautiful summer night and I was so shy,
You weren't sober at the time but that doesn't really matter.
I think of our first kiss every time we near that second park.
It never fails to make my heart skip a beat when I think of that night.
Then there comes the third park where I fell head over heels for you.
You made me realise there that it was okay to be happy.

And I was always love you.

I watched my neighborhood park
undergo a transformation
on a warm autumn morning
that carried the smell of dew and maple
the sun peeked through the trees
reflecting off the yellows reds and oranges
illuminating them
till you could swear they had caught fire
crisp air threw amber leaves skyward
raining down like golden confetti
to be collected for jumping into
by the laughing children

Mid bitter air,
and swirling storms
old Washington Park
may seem forlorn.


Many a stranger
rush through the snow
eager to leave,
eager to go.


The benches were cold,
frosted with white
not a decent seat
to spend the night.


Standing overhead,
the benches of white
were tall lanky lampposts
lighting the night.


And if a stranger
would stop to take a look
the scene might really
be from a book.


The proud  trees were adorned
with teardrops of ice,
When  the sun hits just right,
it looks quite nice.  


Beneath the trees,
lay soft white snow
under the tall lamps
it seemed to glow.


Some may dash,
Through the cold bitter air
Wrapped in scarves,
Not seeming to care.


That they are missing
Much more than they know,
But just can’t see it
‘Cause all the dang snow

We dashed from your ally with
Each spring up the hill I could sense
The world abdicate from the unfamiliar
Hand I was embracing my body became hollow as
The wind carefully pierced me we reached the stage the
Lucent lights shone on your lips and my mouth watered while
The cold seized our bodies forcing them to glue together under the
Blanket of stars the warmth soothed the air but we held the cold captive as
A cover to cherish the glow that bubbled us from the city lights and the flourishing
Leaves when the secretive silence stole the cold’s show “so” you leaned in and brushed your Lips off mine and the bubble burst and everything shifted. All because of this. One. Moment.

In park I sat upon a rock,
Ahead, a trail lay.
I calmly sat and pondered there
Until the sky turned grey!
And in a flash the moon came up,
The rain began to pour.
I stood and ran to nearby trees,
My fear went to the core.
The world shook and morphed and bent,
My vision went askew,
And as the wind began to blow,
I knew not what to do.
Then in a purple puff of smoke
A man came from the sky,
He waved his hand and gave me wings!
And I began to fly.
I beat my wings against the rain,
Through stormy, darkened skies,
When all at once a thunderbolt
Struck out my painful cries.
Falling fast down to the earth
I readied for the shock,
But when I hit I looked around:
I sat upon a rock.
Ahead, a trail still there lay,
Just as it always had,
The sky was blue, the trees were green,
I hardly could be mad.
And so I settled down to think
On all that was my dream,
For often all the dreams I have
Will show a simple theme.
And so I calmly sat and thought
As daytime burned away,
Before I knew it, in a flash,
The sky had turned to grey!