Nerve Endings Firing Away

Yesterday Ash and I had a leisurely stroll in Piedmont Park, a Central Park-esque open green in Atlanta midtown. The quaint balconies on the street side apartments, people with dogs out for a walk (even a mom doing her jogging routine while pushing her kid’s stroller), ducks gliding leisurely (while paddling furiously underwater) on the still water; things that put your mind at peace. A gentle cold breeze and people huddled in layers of warm clothing — not exactly a good time for a leisurely walk. That, at least kept people indoors and the park is all for our taking except for a stray guy who seems either drunk or high and shouts in our direction — I pronounce you man and wife. I mumble out a quick thank you and we scamper away with mixed emotions of shock and muted joy. But that was our last people contact.

Like all public spaces, a park isn’t a park unless you have at least some people teeming about. We venture out to a public space to watch people (very different from the “bird-watching” Romeos) and be a part of civilization that is out there to wish away their worries for a while. Piedmont Park is a teeming ground of craziness during the Dogwood Festival and the empty park is hardly recognizable. Even the grass is a dull brown and out-of-place swimming pool is emptied of all water. Ever notice how ugly a swimming pool looks without water? You never would think that water can make such a difference — sparks life into an ugly concrete pit. The gazebo protruding out on the water however, is a different story altogether. We stand on the ledge gazing out in the distance with the cold water looking forbidding; the sunset casting a warm light on the lake. Rough hewn stone stairs — wide and solid — separate the vast expanse of green mottled with brown earth. A bunch of guys jostle each other for a ball, hardly noticing us. Darkness begins to creep in slowly as the fears of an urban park begin to emerge. We walk back to the train station.