I’m sitting on a bench in Central Park. The sun is shining newly after a cold winter and people are happy. There is a group of elderly volunteers in green shirts raking leaves in the field across from me. A saxophone player just started grooving next to me, so smooth, my mind and soul dance with the notes. A child stands in front of him, mesmerized. Even the birds are chirping their joy. Two flashes of red darted from one tree to the other, I thought I was hallucinating. Cardinals are a marvelous novelty to my west coast eyes. Two women just walked by with 14 dogs on short leashes. Every other couple is speaking a different language. I am content sitting on this park bench. A fixture of the park itself, I sit still as the world moves around me. There is no difference between the way things are and the way I want things to be.
In the middle of the park, a string bass and a man with a glorious voice resonate in this walkway, the acoustics are amazing.
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