(Literal scribble in my notebook from the park.)
A nook on the lower floor backing onto a busy park in the middle of the city. Parties and smiles. Somebody lives here. Dewey green plants, wet and raw wooden fence on back porch with a small bird house on a makeshift clothesline. Old white window frame with peeling paint holding a small window. A nook. A home.
Around the corner on the narrow street is an old forest green van, dew drops on the windshield. Waste and garbage cans are perfectly scattered about. The air is so fresh. I can feel the dew. The street is so narrow. The small attached homes have tangles of wholesome bushes spread about them.
Every little thing. Every lazily placed rake and garbage bag belongs exactly where it is.
Green bushes obscure everything and it feels so