Six O'Clock, Friday Afternoon, Karen Beam Memorial Garden

While I lie on this stone wall hand almost too weary to write I can see tiny ants scurrying about on the pavement curious mobile sesame seeds exploring an empty bottle and the last few of the lonely afterschool crowd shuffle into cars and drive away here I sit, alone in my pondering the wind and rustle in the trees speaking to me and me only. Upon this ground I have tread many times many times have I, too, shuffled past nature with nary a thought but today my senses are sharpened somehow through exhaustion and lack of sleep and the grounds speak to me with a voice and a soul that no man could possess. Weakness has made me aware of nature’s awesome power. Sugar ants crawl all over my leg and I pay no mind. For the air smells and tastes green as the spider grass, and the forest canopy shields my fair skin from the sun. Some people spend their whole lives looking for peace. I have found peace here no siren can rival the chirping of the birds no bitter taste can wash away this sweetness and all my pain is but a leaf carried away on the breeze.