Heart of Green

After months, I visited this heart of green that’s two minutes from where I live. The rain has embraced the soil and paver blocks not differentiating one from the other. The earth oozes, nourishing this wild beauty. Everything green has transformed itself into multitudes. The natural acquisition has been too fast and wide-spread for humans to supervise leaving them no choice but to wait till the falling grace ceases.

My sniffers are scanning the air for a known fragrance which if found will bring back pleasant memories, like old friends do. Dismayed, I find none.

Tiny leaves of yellow suddenly swirl welcoming me to a celebration that does not mandate the presence of another. ‘You’re enough.’

Rich growth has enthralled this place. It would be unforgiving to call it a park. Would they have such dense vegetation in Africa?

The thought evaporates as my sniffers inform other senses of its successful find. Here it is! The fragrance of eucalyptus that brings life alive! The cleansing of a soul before it’s born again, one whose existence I was oblivious to until this moment.

The family of hugging bamboos is not quizzed by other tress about their appearance or why they rise and droop.

The bridge of wood planks is no longer cute. I’m constricted from investigating by two barks forming an ‘ex’ warning the adventure-seeking feline breed. How long has it been since I've seen a three dimensional ‘ex’? The serious barks know their job. They frown with disagreement. My thirst for adventure, despite Bryan Adams, long died at 18.

Head towards the temple-like secluded steps and my yellow conscience asks, ‘Is it wise to risk it?’ I walk on. The lone fluttering of a florescent butterfly reminds me how easily crush-able my life and happiness are. I’m no tougher than a bug here, yet just as fearless and mindless.

The frolic laughter of men amplify my hesitation like in a horror movie the background sound gives away the imminent carnage yet ironically fabricates the ultimate fear through anticipation. And we wonder why warning signs don’t work. Like a moth to a flame.

While they practice a fun sport, all I see is potential danger. Foolish pride urges me on.

The paver blocks bucket water. It’s all mossy here and darker green. Like a tan on a wrist line, I follow the clear meandering path that’s the handiwork of all the feet that kept going. I follow their invisible footprints arriving at the amphitheater where I bask in the now warm sun putting pen to paper as tiny coolers arrive at the pores.

Every morning I walk in the direction that provides a place in the world. Walking in the direction of my green heart finds me a place in the Universe.

Echoes tarnish the heavens with religious or political broadcasts. The bogus voice brings to mind worldly chains. It’s time to leave with a desire to return.

I see one more herd of frolic men now. The blue of their shirts erase my anxiety. Colors, clothing and symbols speak of what we do, who we are and how much we earn. Seeing these, we blindly trust in our assumptions eliminating the necessity to validate.

Instead of seeing myself as outnumbered, I assume the unknown security men to be my safe keepers and feel naively protected.

As I climb down the antenna goes up again. The senses alert of soft footsteps behind. Even though not intimidated I am keenly aware of a presence. While I choose the paver blocks, the footsteps take the rocky mud track. As they draw near, I see dusky feet in slippers, colorful mismatched and over-sized clothes, hair tied up in a bun with a gaudy flower to doll up an otherwise plain face. Ahead, a small group of boys climb down a slender track of stairs. Are these two connected? What sort of business could go on in a lush green remote corner?

The gate drapes a banner of a combat fitness company blocking out all view of the green heart to the swarming slum dwellers waiting to alight the numbered bulldozers, otherwise known as BEST buses. 

Would a self-defense class compensate for the faith that’s lost in the world of people?