The Geese

You can't have a Wash Park experience without geese.
They're there.
It's their home.
They make as much noise as they want,
when they want to,
and it's as loud as they want it to be.
They're magnificent,
but dirty.
Graceful,
but petulant.
Gorgeous,
but obnoxious.
An example of the contradictions of life.

Wash Park 12/16/09

In the park,
Every day surprises.
Today an angry sky.
A different kind of anger.
An anger with allure.
Notice!
Marvel at beauty in this anger.
Sky's anger, not like humans'.
But human language marks our bondaries.
All we know to talk about our world.
Maybe we should just look.

Another Morning in Wash Park

I can't remember ever seeing the combination of blues that appeared in the frozen lake. I tried to catch them with my camera. It worked -- sort of. You get the idea. But you don't know what it feels like to be there, in the cold air that makes those colors and patterns of ice's crinkle and sparkle.
Kisha, my dog, went today. Patiently waiting while I tried to capture the amazement. Happy to have her coat on. Happy to get some cookies along the way. She understands the simplicity of a good walk, but wants her rewards too. My rewards are the beauties of this refuge in the city.

Vacation in Washington Park, Denver
12/ 11/ 09: School’s over. It’s the first day of winter vacation. I’ve turned in the grades for my classes and I’m ready to, to what? Every time I come to the end of something, I feel aimless and lost. What now? And so, this morning in characteristic fashion, I sunk into a funk – adrift, no plan. Then I put on my running shoes and went to Wash Park. Across the lakes the mountains rose above the bare trees to greet the sun, and the plan hatched. I will spend this vacation writing about my mornings in the park. I will breathe and watch. That’s my plan, my to-do, my project. I will vacation in Wash Park and pay close enough attention to write about it.
This morning was unlike many other mornings in Wash Park. I dilly dallied at home, even getting close to a showering without going out. But I realized, as the shower-water warmed, that I had to get out, to see the mountains, to run.
By the time I got to the park, it was a little after 8. The hard core and the workers had been and gone. And it was still too early and cold for the stay-at-homes, so I had the park nearly to myself. Even my dog was at home, waiting for the afternoon thaw.
Being nearly alone changes the experience. It allows the mind to do whatever it will without being brought back to the challenges of trail etiquette. And so this morning rather than thinking about getting my dog, Kisha, on the right side of the trail for oncoming tracffic’s sake, my mind focused on the cold against my face in contrast to the heat of my hands inside my gloves. One body, so cold and so hot. I listened to the geese screech rather than thinking about how good Kisha has become at watching for her cookie rather than chasing them. But as always, I looked for the mountains, the strongest pull to the park for me. The light of the morning sun makes them dazzle magically. I go to the park for that magic, what it does for my soul.

It's cold, but not too cold -- not for someone who's had a hot shower and is clothed in top-of-the-line gear. But it seems bitter cold for a night under the bridge on the bike path. But her cart is there, the one sheathed in black plastic, and she is sitting not far away in the morning sun. Her parka is pink -- almost the pink of mine. But hers has a hood that's pulled tightly around her face. She's never looked at me nor have I ever heard her make a sound. I don't really even know what she looks like. About the only thing I know is that she has a neatly organized cart and it's almost always parked under the last bridge before the bike path splits taking bikes to the west side of the river, leaving the pedestrians on the east. I ride by everyday, well, almost every day, on my way to school. I have missed only a few days, a handful when it was raining or snowing or just too cold and icy to ride. And she's there almost every day -- only a handful of days has she been somewhere else. A couple of those days it was in the low 20s and I assumed she had gone to the shelter. Then I fantasized that she had gone on vacation or to visit family. These thoughts of family and vacation magnify the gap between us. And yet there's some connection it seems. Or is there? Perhaps in my mind, but not in hers. Does she notice my brilliant yellow jacket the way I notice her pink one? I don't know, but I don't think so. She makes me ponder how difficult it would be to live her life, to consider what a homeless person does all day, to wonder about basic bodily functions on the street. But I don't want to ask about her life, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to satisfy my curiosity.
It's the Christmas season -- that time of year when giving is on so many minds. And I'd like to give her something. But I probably won't because I don't know how. I'm too locked in a life that is so dfferent from hers, that I can't get out of it far enough to be of any help.

Friday

It's Friday and it's still cold - in the 20s again. But the sun is showing her bright face in the big blue Colorado sky. My bike has a new rear tire and a new rider. Everyday I'm a little bit different. I hope for being more perceptive too, but that's a bigger challenge. It's a rough couple of weeks at school -- copied papers, student grievances -- and yet some things turn out better than expected. The pain of confronting a student who copied a paper turned into an acknowledgement of and even a thank-you for a lesson learned. Still, I am discouraged. The karma feels off. The fit isn't. It's not new, not out of the blue, not once in a lifetime. But this morning this misfit seems worse.
Nevertheless small things can have big payoffs -- shadows for example. When we think shadows the mind can go in two directions. The "out of the shadows" direction is scary and dark. But shadows have another aura too. In my funk this morning I noticed my shadow out ahead of me as I headed west. And there dancing in the sun were the straps of my back pack. Carefree and energetic. Light and gleeful, they hopped and bobbed in the morning light. It seemed almost two-dimensional, black and white. My movement through space creating wind added the third dimension. I thought about how that's a sort of opposite of how we define"wind" as air moving through space past us. And the joy of the dance made me smile.

Thursday

It was a cold morning -in the high 20s with a bit of drizzle. So I got on my bike with a bit of trepidation and three layers from head to toe. The heat of the earth had kept the ground from freezing despite stubborn ice on windshields. The cold air against the small slice of exposed nose and cheeks felt clean. My legs worked and my core heated up. I wasn't the only biker out there, but no one was in shorts. And the homeless woman I wonder about was still there, under the same bridge sitting stoically as always, but bundled up more tightly with more layers making her lumpy figure just a bit larger. I was headed to a warm office with warm interaction. She sat. Alone. Quiet. Three weeks ago during a cold spell she was gone. I wondered if she had moved to a shelter for the winter. But she hasn't. It worries me. But I have no idea what her reality is like or what I could do to make it more of what she might want. So, I go on and just wonder.