michael-dean-k/

(A writing exercise after reading Emerson's essay on how once you can see nature, you've unlocked a constellation of metaphors that can be used to describe anything. Take 1:)

Our clipped potential, like a tree’s arms trimmed for obstructing power lines, left a mighty trunk that bears no fruits, offers no shade;

Our unborn ideas, cities and cities full, like scattered brown pollen accreted on riverbanks of sidewalk;

Our restless mind, pattered with the sizzling doinks of a pickleball frenzy;

Our dreams faded, like disappearing engine hums of transatlantic birds;

Our interiors unguarded, like the iron fence with a body-shaped hole, bent;

Step not into the confusion of a gnat swarm;

See history clearly, without the illusion of time, and as you enter the park, see at once all past visitors at their moment of entering; see some trodden zones as a cacaphony of bodies, a mob of holographic sound, light, and limbs; see the edge where you make out human forms making out; see over time the cloud getting thinner and thiner until you see those picnicking, those illegally camping, that one who died in the park.