Kids playing in a fountain,
laughing, jubilant, dancing,
shouting,
waving arms madly
as they dance
on a sun-sparkled
sheet of cool water
on a late summer day
while older people watch
with bemused detachment,
wondering what it feels like,
to do just what
those children are doing,
lingering on memories
of their own carefree times,
childhoods so long lost
to adulthood,
they are seemingly,
irretrievable,
until now.
What’s it like to be wet,
soaking wet, in a raucous,
joyous,
Mightily pulsating,
fountain of
Endless cool refreshment
On this sweltering afternoon,
With a pool to splash
And run around in,
not caring who is looking
or laughing,
alive to the moment.
Leaving this carnival
of laughter and joy,
innocence and timelessness,
I think of never-ending
youthful escapades of my own
silliness splashing around,
laughing in a plastic pool in the backyard,
spraying each other with the hose,
pure mischief and delight.
After this brief reverie,
I leave childhood behind,
mine and theirs,
to walk beneath oak trees,
entering a world of shade
and quiet
park benches
and lonely men,
couples kissing and tourists photographing,
cell phone cameras,
communication devices,
the world of adulthood,
so close by
and yet light years away
from that Fountain of Youth.
Sitting on a bench,
water bottle and book open,
I read of Buddhist
paths to happiness
and a wandering soul’s trek
across New Hampshire mountains
into the Adirondacks.
A nice breeze off the harbor
calms me, blessedly,
as I contemplate the families,
the couples
and, rarely, the lone figure
such as myself,
all encapsulated
in this little park
,
straddling and
hugging the waterfront.
Huge container cargo ships
slip silently into port,
sailboats serenely glide by;
frantic motorboats charge
full bore into this picture,
soon gone
while the sails stand still.
A few benches down,
a student pores
over papers and books,
relaxed and contemplative,
hardly looking anywhere else
but in front of him,
even as a wedding couple
poses for photos
20 feet away,
commanded by the photographer
to kiss.
The student
is unperturbed,
oblivious.
I watch the scene
with some imagined
eye for the fine details,
the little nuances of life,
observing, thinking,
wondering.
This is my way
of living the moments.
My water bottle is empty.
The books
have whet my appetite
for the wisdom to come,
if only it would.
The afternoon light
is only slightly altered
in the hour or so
that has passed
in this reverie,
this slowing down
of time,
this interlude,
suspended for long,
uncounted moments,
between childhood
and adulthood,
claiming neither,
embracing both.
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