There’s a small park: a once vacant area where a fork in the road splits, turned into a small patch of grass, 8 stone steps along a small path, two benches and a wonderful fountain.

Two tapers of endless warble that is mesmerizing to look at and timeless to listen to. Literally, the warble will go on forever but also in the larger more romantic sense.

The water falling forever on water touches something deep inside. It is what makes it worthwhile to walk to a small area hard to call a park. An area in its serenity that makes you appreciate how little it feels like a “park.” You don’t notice the people walking around you, or the cars driving by. You notice the fact that you don’t hear the people, the fact that the cars lightly come to a complete stop at the nearby stop-sign for a change.

Are the giants tip-toeing, or do I not hear their footsteps?

The difference doesn’t matter, just another pondering between warbles.

***

In between the silences, clusters of clouds roll in, fragmenting the accompanying sun.

The scattered rays are sweeter to me, more noticeable, showing me that not all is always light. They highlight what never needs, nor asks, for highlighting: the green on the faces of leaves, the coolness of shade directly underneath them.

Small areas grand in the comfort and awareness they provide.

Clouds simultaneously provide these spotlights and the sprinkle of a spontaneous shower whose raindrops fall on the leaves with a million thuds, constantly shaking them to create the bright flashing of early afternoon spring.

With every added drop, on my head, hand, falling onto my legs from the leaves catching rays and rainwater, it was hard to ignore how redundant the fountain had become.

I shifted from appreciating it as a serene focal point of an already serene area, the something imitating what was naturally creating beauty.

The image or action of something beautiful trying to duplicate something naturally beautiful, while in its presence, was hollow.

***

What is love?

Love is the chuckling answer to that question, that sneaks up on you when you’re looking the other way.