Daydreaming about the park

The Running Man


Daydreaming about the park

The world is but a hot summer day where soft winds blow upon the soul of the restless mind. Sweet is the voice of a loved one that sits, waiting nervously on the bench for her dreams and hopes to arrive, in the form of a man, yet unseen.

Children talking loudly, run about the playground. Oh, that we were young once more to partake in such simple pleasures. The joy of youth was never wasted. I see it in their smiles and know that my own smiles surely had existed though, I long for that time, again.

Echoing raindrops sweep quickly across in the passing of a cloud that, mother’s take heed of, judge but a moment and consider the safety of their children.

Moment’s wind gusts upon the thin jogger, nearly blown from his course and determined to hold his feet to the path he has given them. Carefully he winds past a woman and her small dog that nips at his ankles.

The ringing of a small bell draws the attention of others to a small hot dog cart. A young man, dreading his attire, approaches the area with announced arrival.

Some of the ladies call for their children with hopes of drinks and snacks, they , themselves desire. Frugal mothers withdraw packed lunches and fruit juice from their over-sized bags as their children come to them, when called.

Even the clumsy jogger stops long enough to grab a bottled water and pours some on his head, presumably to cool himself down though his pace never warranted such need.

Mother’s with multiple children, gather their little ones as though they were goslings being herded by their mother-geese. I mused over the idea of watching such diligent work and quickly realized why I have no desire to be a teacher. Herding three or four children would be a chore. A classroom full, I cannot fathom.

Shaking the thought from my mind, I realize that like many dreams…reality is a thought that quickly passes from the light of day, slipping quietly into the dark of night.

This small world sits quiet, and yet, so full of noise that even the dead of night cannot rest. Explosions will come to the night, for the night is New Year’s Eve, as much of the world celebrates with fantastic overtures of sound and light.

Happy New Years world…It’s 2011

Thank you for reading my article and forgive the colorful language…but sometimes, I really like to cut loose and write straight from my imagination.


Great Smoky National Park


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Comments 2 comments

SilentReed profile image

SilentReed 6 years ago from Philippines

The poetry of your writing is such a delight to read.Unhurried and unforced.Flowing naturally from one sentence to the next.From one paragraph into another.

W. K. Hayes profile image

W. K. Hayes 6 years ago from Bryson City, North Carolina Author

Thank you SilentReed...I really appreciate your encouraging words and I look forward to spending more time with your work, as well.

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