The Park:

Across the street. 

        Its funny how something as childish as a park can play a major role for so many people, all from different walks of life. The park just across my building speaks a variety of stories. Some of newly wed couples, some of budding love. Some of healing souls, and some just of the funny events at school.

        First a barren ground only of dust and rubble now holds tropical greenery. Fragrant flowers and  lush trees in the midst of which we are able to lose ourselves. Benches that grant us relaxation beyond any spa treatment, and even a little pond that does everything to add to the ecstasy.

        The sounds of giggling children, heartily laughing adults echoes through the air, carried gently by the breeze into every surrounding open window.  

        Although they are nothing  compared to the Amazon, parks have their own little adventures to offer.  Mystic caves formed by hollow tree barks or lazily limping bushes, hidden trials surrounded by enchanted vines and covered in crisp autumn leaves, all ours to explore. 

        But parks offer their greatest gift in the earliest hours of the morning. One that only the early birds are granted to experience.  The very first rays of the sun carry with them the cool morning breeze. The air is sparkling and scented anew.  The grass and leaves both high and low are carpeted by little liquid diamonds. The morning dew is a gemstone like no other.

        Parks aren’t only a play ground for children. They are the diaries in which the world writes its deepest secrets, the shoulders we seek the support of. The park across my apartment is a sanctuary, a reserve for the essence of  the growing life around it. 

                                                                               Living it Up, 

                                                                                    Memon Me.