Park's Edge | Mark Lindsay
Shoulders hunched, I walk through the park. In these parts, March and April are tempestuous months. And they most always bring storminess into life itself. I once got fired from my job in the month of March, something I always remember when the weather gets mercurial. Spring winds usher forth change, most all of it good. But sometimes it takes time to see the good and the wisdom of the universe. Once May rolls around a persistent sun basks the bones and still, quiet air prevails. The trick is to appreciate March and April for what they are. I look from the path and into the park's edge.
The park's edge is dark today. The prefab buildings that make up the periphery of our grammar school have an incandescence that cuts through the gloom. The floating orb that is the sun tries to burn off the remains of a pesky storm. Right now the stormy clouds are winning. But the sun is smarter than am I, it knows that clouds have a place and time. I'd rather walk past the storm than through it. I concentrate on the edge of the park and the edge of the storm. I look up from my hunched shoulder.
I wonder what's on the other side.