Some Sounds and Sights Are Spectacles
Poetry
When spring arrives,
I walk down to the lake each day,
mid-morning as clouds disperse,
while blue patches widen into sky.
Everyone around me walks fast.
I move slowly, cautious of tree-root-cracked
thick leaves, and slippery moss.
Some streets are lined with cherry blossom
blooms falling softly like a wedding march
for the marriage of ghosts who once occupied
this city and cherished its lakes and trails.
When I get to the lake path, I am delighted
by all the children playing in the playground,
climbing steps, and descending by slides.
They scream with mischief and joy.
Close by the swings sing a squeaky rhythm
in need of oil. A group of curious small kids
in a sandbox pushing tractors, diggers, and trucks.
I love the sharp sound of their racquets
hitting orange balls and their arguments,
reminding me of magnified table tennis,
and the arrival of middle age.
The rest of the way to the lake I encounter
young and elderly people pushing baby carriages, runners,
and dogs, of all temperaments on leashes or running free
I see glimpses of the lake below and the spot where
trees were to be planted in honor of Martin Luther King
Day. The ground is prepped. No trees have yet been planted.
I’m obsessed and puzzled by the trees’ ongoing absence.
The lake is dark blue sapphire, twice as intense as the sky.
Swimmers are beckoned by the beaches, but they wait
for summer months of simmering heat and the company
of their friends, with whom they will sunbathe on the docks.
The spring and summer fantasies break when two beagles
on a split leash, straining against restraints, enter the park.
I hear the dogs long before I see them. Their braying echoes
endlessly through the tall cedars, as they hunt for squirrels
and try to tangle with smaller dogs along the lake paths.
The owner of the beagles has no idea
how to quiet them or maybe he likes messing
with other folks in the park and delights in scaring
small kids, and people from other cultures.
I like it best when, at last, the loud dogs and their
disruptive owner leaves the park peacefully,
and we all return to what we were doing.
I walk while engaged in early spring dreams
of expanding sunlight and colorful blossoms.
