Grassy knoll, taking large strides to reach the top where we will lay down a red-checked cloth for a picnic. The hill the belly of a friendly beast who is sleeping now; A Snorlax dreaming for 1000 years. Round curvature, no sharp edges. The sun is a heat lamp, and now sweat trickles from our brow and dampens our armpits. There are no trees, but a clear view of a clear blue sky that threatens to promise the possibility of all good things, yes. The lawn of the knoll is freshly manicured. There are hummingbirds and beetles minding their own business. Bees buzzing bravely that have been here forever, generations past, through storm and inclement weather. It's a lookout. And from the top you can see the rest of the park and forest, more thick with trees than anywhere else around. I hold my binoculars to my glasses and focus in on a woman walking her oversized dog. She is on the phone, ignoring his cuteness. I would not ignore him. There is a little girl on a scooter and she's rapidly chatting away to her father, who fixes her bright pink helmet.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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