Monday, December 14, 2009

26 Minutes in Loring Park

Back when I attended MCTC, I would often venture into the nearby park between or after classes. Because of its location in the heart of the city, it got a lot of traffic and was both a lovely place to watch nature and a fascinating people watching spot. As I was cleaning my room today, I came across a random sheet of writing I did one day sitting on a bench. The style (or perhaps the lack therof) is rather abrupt; quite literally I wrote what I saw as I saw it. It's nothing fancy, just an attempt to capture an afternoon in Loring Park. It brought back all sorts of memories for me, perhaps it will also be interesting to you. 

    Strains of a bagpipe lazily drift over the pond. On my ebony wrought bench, I’m surrounded by birds; some in the water, some pecking at the tiny blades of grass for crumbs from some passerby. A bird dives into the grayish-brown water, interrupting the surface for an instant. A brazen young woman entertains a group of young people on the other side of the bridge while two geese slyly inch nearer, nipping the grass. The lewd girl has removed her belt, clambered onto the overturned rescue boat, and whipped mercilessly at an unsuspecting tree. Certain now that I have no food for them, my pair of geese have ambled away back towards the water. The church bell clangs two. Again I try calling Brian’s cell phone; once again my efforts are rewarded with voicemail. The sun has gone behind the clouds and the gentle breeze has become harsher. A balding man in an old leather coat with a cigarette and his miniscule dog have now frightened my bird friends away. They are followed by a large group of boisterous, drunk, men and women.  My goose stares in wonder as he is “f-bombed” by a large, black man, and then wanders back shyly my way.
    2:07 and finally my calls are answered. Many middle-aged couples lazily meander around the park, passed by the occasional preppy runner or “pretty-boy” biker. A lovely duck out to dry herself in the sun has upset my goose, and the man and his dog have returned. A man in orange and white starkly contrasts with the soft earthy-browns, greens, yellows and blues of the landscape. A woman walks by in a pair of keens. I have changed out of mine from this morning for my boss's sake.
    2:15 sounds the bell! A young brunette and a man in a tie come over the bridge; her unsuitable stiletto heels clicking noisily. Sitting beside me for a moment, a little boy gives me an appraising glance. At a word from his father, a tall, dark and handsome man with a military air, the boy retreats. Pausing on the bridge for a moment, giving me only time to admire her dark, curly hair and tan suede jacket, a woman moves on, followed by a blond biker in a pink jacket. An older man bikes by as well; he however, has a blackbird perched on his helmet as he crosses the bridge. The waterfowl sound like gossipy old women.
    At 2:26, I leave my bench and head to work.

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