When we bought our little white house on a quiet street, I was immediately drawn to the skinny park that ran the length of the neighborhood loop. It reminded me of a tiny version of Panhandle park where Brent and I spent countless days when we lived in San Francisco.
It’s a little narrow strip of land, maintained by the city, where Crepe Myrtle trees and Long Leaf Pines dot the green grass and a few neighbors have claimed small portions of it for vegetable gardens.
I am guilty of sometimes sneaking over when the the snowball hydrangeas hang heavy with blooms to snip off big clusters of white flowers to put around our house.
Our little park just barely qualifies as one, but it is where we escape when we need to get out of the confines of our own house and yard but don’t have the time or energy to go far.
We have come to love it as our own. A place where the kids run free and Brent and I lay happy in the shade of the trees. Right now, the buttercups are blooming and of all the gifts this little island of green gives to us, it is this event that tops the list.
The buttercups are here
and we are counting them
dancing in them
swimming through them
until they go.