I found a park the other day. There was a lot of dirt, chipped paint, and tires. The swings were broken and the slide was shaky. There was trash under the tree where I imagine parents sit to watch their kids. It was open, like the desert. And windy. The sun was lazy and created long, warm shadows. Fernando was wearing shorts. There were dogs barking in the distance and graffiti on the industrial walls that surrounded the businesses nearby.
I could have stayed all day. Fernando slept on a bench while I walked around taking pictures, breathing in the wind and the sun. I felt as though I had stepped back into myself somewhere around 4 where memories are like jelly, and was wandering in the same backyard playground I grew up in… 13th St. San Diego, a Mexican neighborhood. I can still remember how to say dirt in Ukrainian.
