it’s dusk. i’m leaning against a fencepost at my favorite park watching the rapidly disappearing sunset’s rippled reflection on the water, cigarette in hand. i’m trying to figure out how i would describe this moment to you.
the river is slow and constant, and i’m brought back to a few weeks ago when my friend reminded me of her favorite movie quote. the meaning of the river flowing is not that all things are changing so that we cannot encounter them twice, but that some things stay the same only by changing. i like to think i embrace change with open arms but i’ve never been very good at relinquishing control. everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.
it’s quiet, i can’t hear the ringing in my ears or the crickets. i always listen for the crickets. i read the other day that only male crickets chirp, in order to attract a mate, and i laugh now at the irony in that. how beautiful, though, that every night i can look at the stars and hear a thousand crickets sing their love songs. i couldn’t do that in the city.
i pull out my phone briefly to find our star. i don’t know much of anything about stars but you do so i don’t have to, you do so i smile at the thought of them. once i finally place it i find myself glancing back at the star every few minutes, as if it could fade out of existence without my gaze. i’m a little worried, albeit irrationally, that it might run away.
the grass is damp, freshly watered. i can hear cars idling in the parking lot to my right and i couldn’t imagine opting to sit behind the wheel instead of breathing in the summer air. i’m reminded then of all the times i parked here, of all the people i’ve brought with me. in this moment i feel older than i have ever been before. i guess i am.
i haven’t been back here since last august, and i think about that night but only briefly. it sweeps through my mind and slips out just as softly, in the way your thoughts are supposed to flow when you meditate. i’ve never been so good at it. i wonder if i’ll ever be able to visit again without that night coming back to me.
today i am by myself and i try to think of another person’s company i’d have over my own. sometimes i’m not sure if i am alone or lonely. maybe it changes from day to day, but i don’t think an isolated person can be alone for long without allowing the bitter feeling of loneliness to seep in. there is a man to my right laying in the park with his dog. i wonder if he is lonely.
i find the most meaning in the time i spend alone. the spaces between my performance to the world are the most cinematic, the most significant, because it is only then that i can simply be. the last of the surfers have unzipped their wetsuits and left the river. i watch them bike off, boards tucked under one arm.
there is a shift that happens then, and the man takes his dog back to the car and drives off. most of the remaining cars in the parking lot follow suit. a group of teens down the way finish the joint they’ve been sharing and wander further along the bank. it’s the time of night during which the ducks finally finish feeding and settle between the reeds, tucking their bills in their wings to sleep. the last light in the sky is that of the moon, crescent shaped and watchful above me. it’s then that i can finally hear the crickets.
thank you so much for reading! i hope my writing resonated with you in one way or another. i’m honored to connect with you :) if you’d like to show further support, you can buy me a coffee. until next time, ib