An Afternoon at Kate Sessions Park

I hear wind, weaving its way through the light-green leaves of paper trees with bare spots where bark has peeled away, leaving patches that look like light pastel paints blotched on the trunks. children are laughing, adults talking, music from a portable radio playing. my fair hair is in my eyes but pushing past i find frisbees flying in between boys with no shirts, tennis balls bouncing down the hill and dogs named Jill tumbling after. towels are spread out like islands with skin on them, burning in the sun. hip girls with flowered blouses roll around, laughing at life, their bare feet feeling fresh grass so green and so new that old brown leaves fall from their trees to it, hoping to feel young again. further down a checkerboard of trees and homes fit in front of a busy bay with boats and birds about, while west a small strip of sand fends off an expanse of endless ocean with glitter dancing on it. i see south that downtown doesn't stop for a sunday. planes land and then launch. cranes construct. tall buildings brew business. cars make moves on a man-built bridge, hunched over a harbor and beyond a haze, mountains in Mexico beg notice. all of this works below us. but not us up here on this hill so high. we just bask in the brilliance, and watch bubbles blow by.