I now live in Brooklyn, the ancestral lands of Lenape and Canarsee people. Today, it is a tree-lined, diverse neighborhood of townhouses converted to rental apartments where you can hear the range of music all the way from local artists rapping out beats to the words of Richard Marx playing loudly from cars passing by. A neighborhood where West Indies cuisine, notably their jerk chicken, is a local favorite and where there is also a small community garden to bring our weekly compost. To me, this is a fully alive neighborhood with sirens of cops cars zooming past, cussing on street corners, and very loud Friday night block parties. I like it here, even with its edgy and gritty vibe it feels very human and very inclusive to live here unlike some of the other manicured neighborhoods where there is a monotony of tone and color.
There is a neighborhood park close to where I live that is a typical urban city park and does not appear to be remarkable in any way. It has the usual features of any urban city park – there is the kid's playground, courts for shooting hoops, and the unmarked stretches of ground where dogs and their friendly owners get together for some chit-chat and playing catch. As this park is only down the street from where I live and I like to walk there regularly. This is an attempt to sketch out my conversation with this urban city park.
Spring has come alive in this little neighborhood park of ours. Nannies with babies in strollers are out again, as are the buds and flowers on star magnolias and cherry plum trees.
The trees that form a canopy are especially pretty at this time against the evening sky. Today was just another walk in the park, the air was still cold and brisk. On my way to the park, I always greet the little green man figurine standing proudly in the pit of one of the trees on the sidewalk. Who are you? He asks as I pass by. I ask him the same question too and am yet to receive my answer. The little green man appears to have aviator goggles on which makes me think of him as a human figure, or maybe he’s a goblin or a gnome? Was he someone who lived here in the past?
Musing on these questions I reach the park, I see there’s a big group of boys hanging out in the courts today with music and hoodies, taking selfies or perhaps making their next viral Instagram reel. I keep walking around the big park. The star magnolia trees have a subtle scent as I pass by, ironically they are planted right outside the public facilities. I pick up my pace and turn around the bend where there’s a giant old tree which looks more like a piece of art placed in the center covered by a perimeter of cobblestones to add to the old world aura of this tree. The layers of the bark are smooth to touch and a delight for the eyes! So much character! Sadly, I still don’t know the name of this tree and yet it always beckons me with his anonymous charm. I continue walking to satisfy my inner urge to go further, passing other trees, standing there strongly rooted in the earth claiming their territory with their striking roots. Their many resident squirrels have sheltered in their trunks for the winter. A few dogs are playing on the unmarked stretch of ground with their owners. I pass them and arrive near the canopy of trees with little white flowers. I know this canopy of trees. A few weeks ago on my usual evening walk, I rested against one of them that was at a slant and heard my own beating heart and gushing flow of blood. Or did I hear the tree’s beating heart and the gushing sound of sap flow? I couldn’t actually be sure. I leaned against the tree and placed my ear on the trunk of the tree. The sound was very loud I remember, and although the origin of the sound I heard is still a mystery to me, when I first noticed it I thought, my god - you’re alive! I couldn’t help but feel remorse that I had considered this tree to be just another pretty object so far. In that fleeting moment, I realized the real possibility of this tree being alive, just as alive as I was, and I asked for forgiveness.
Today, there’s a songbird on one of its blooming branches. I look up and find her perched and signing out loudly. I stopped and kept watching her. It seemed to me that she too looked down on me a couple of times and continued her singing. I focused on her song till the noise of the group of boys in the courts behind almost faded out. Just then one of the dogs playing nearby came to greet me with a nudge taking me out of my trance-like fixation on the songbird. I turned my glance to this doggo and his wagging tail, and he seemed happy to be there. I noticed that the sweet bird had stopped singing and she was now just quietly perching on the branch. I found a gentle peace in my heart as if letting me know that the song of her heart had been heard. I felt my walk for today was complete and headed back home.
On my way back home, I found a neighbor gardening and I stopped to talk to her only to find that some folks from our block were planning to meet soon to care for the trees on our block that needed some extra TLC. She invited me to join, and I can’t wait!
