April showers bring May flowers, but April has its own. And on the dew of an April morning you can smell those flowers. They’re sweet, fresh, and alive. But as people walk, jog or run by they don’t take the time to smell them. Too busy with a metropolitan life to see nature’s beauty right under their noses. Sitting here on this bench a take a deep breath and take it all in. Breaking my introspection on daily life I bend down and pick up a very smooth pebble.
Weighing it in my hand the rock seems unnaturally light. Though not large, I figure it should have been heavier but pass the thought off indifferently. Sitting back up on the bench, I take a few looks around me. To my left and right the path I walk every day stretches outward, followed by various people. A woman with a stroller looks inside, whispers a few words to her baby, and continues on. An older man, wearing a bright purple track suit, clumsily makes an attempt at roller skating. Running past him is a young man holding on to a leash with a golden labrador at the end of it. The dog moves too close to the old man, frightens him, and man and purple track suit both go down.
In front of me is a playground full of kids. I had picked the spot haphazardly and happened on a bench across from the area I played as a child. The equipment had all changed, newer jungle-gym and newer swings. Everything brought up to safety codes. But vague memories of my own childhood run around beside the kids laughing and playing now.
I close my eyes and think back to a time without cares. With a great sigh I give into past freedom, and for a moment the knot in the back of my neck unwinds. I toss the pebble up and down, catching it without having to look. I envision the rise and fall, a metronome lazily connecting and separating my past and my present.
A creak of the bench and I open my eyes to see a young boy with long golden hair making me think a girl sits before me. Looking closer though, something in his eyes reassures me and I’m certain he’s a boy. With his own stone he is mimicking my movements, throwing it up and down and up and down. He smiles when he sees me look at him but continues to mirror me.
Without notice I stop tossing my pebble, open it up palm facing him, and let the stone fall to the ground. Again he does the same. I push my hand forward and give him a high five, then turns my hand palm down so that our finger tips are touching. Still connected I wiggle my fingers, and his along with mine. He laughs, a soft harmonic laugh and I can’t help but do the same.
Somewhere off his mother calls him to leave. He looks at me and smiles. I raise my hand and he gives me another high five. Then running off towards the playground he leaves me to my thoughts. I settle back down on the bench and start to listen again. Soon I can hear the rhythm of the people once more, but with added sound. Now I hear the little boys laugh. And I hear my laugh, now, and as a child then. I go to stand up and walk but not before one last thing. I reach down, pick both pebbles of the ground. Mine is slightly larger than the young boy’s yet his seems heavier. I place both stones in my pocket and walk down the path and out of the park.
