Voyeur

As soon as I immerse myself into the wide open, uncovered plot of land within Congress Park, my primed ears hear the sound of thin metal clicking together. A sound I am conditioned to perk-up to; I turn my head with excitement to happily find a dog running after a hollowed rubber frisbee. It is as if I can hear those tagged collars from a mile away. I find a bench nearby to sit and observe the lively movements and actions of my new four-legged friend. The moderately sized black and grey speckled dog had a soft tint of blue that was enhanced when holding the bright blue frisbee within its mouth. I followed its path of retrieval with my eyes until my attention shifted to the man responsible for the powerful toss. He’s wearing an oversized heathered grey sweatshirt, with the hood up over both his head and baseball cap. The sweatpants had a logo down the pant leg that vaguely looked like the word university - though hard to truly say from my distance. Perhaps he is currently in college or a recent graduate. His face and actions tell me perhaps mid-20’s, in that he is still young and fit, but mature and somewhat experienced. The dog knows him very well and is tuned into his every move. He has full trust in his owner and is more obedient than anyone can hope for. The man performs little jumps and spurts of running to hype-up his companion. The interactions between the two of them are wholesome and pure. I continue to scan the surrounding area but it seems he came alone. Perhaps this dog is his first major sense of responsibility now that he is on his own. Or simply the first addition to his near future family. Nonetheless, the dog looks beautiful and healthy, and so does he. To loved and be loved no matter the species; that is a wonderful experience.



(Congress Park, 2/23/19)

Momentary Blindness

Flakes of dust begin to layer atop my keyboard as I type. The penetrative aroma is untraceable to a single element, yet distinguishable and common. My attention wavers between the hollow clunking of hooves on pavement, and the crunching of tires along intermittent patches of solid ice. As the door opens, what feels like a gust of wind sweeps the baby hairs that frame my face that tickle my forehead and cheekbones. In that same motion, cold air creeps its way against the current and kisses every patch of bare skin on my body. Finally after what felt like minutes, the door is closed. What took them so long? Someone begins to sweep the aisle way outside the door. The sound is muffled, but I can still hear the slight scraping of straw across the concrete slab that seems to clear in rhythm. My mouth becomes dry, and I notice a very subtle grit in the notches of my teeth like sand at a beach. But this is definitely not sand. I assume a lesson has started as the repetitive sounds of hooves have muted and transitioned into people talking. I can faintly hear the instructions and critiques of my coach, yet can feel the power and depth of her words in my chest. The volume sharply rises on her dampened commentary. Uh oh, that doesn’t seem good. Before I become absorbed in this newfound situation, my teammate knocks rapidly, though softly, on the window to the right of where I am sitting. My head jolts towards her direction to find her purely waving goodbye as she heads towards her car. After a swift wave back, I recenter myself. The volume had returned to a normal decibel within the arena as I filled my lungs with the crisp, dust ridden air. No matter where my attention wanders, I am continually distracted by the elements of climate; perhaps I need another coat.

(Van Lennep Riding Center, 2/1/19)