Moments in the Park - Moments in the Park

Moments in the Park

Appreciation

The phrase Moments in the Park was originally used to describe short prose poems inspired by observations on walks through Horton Park and other outdoor spaces. Throughout 2016, I crafted Moments in the Park as a daily practice. I have continued to write Moments in the Park, just not as frequently as that first year.
Here you will find the prose poems as well as expansions telling the story of the inspiration, reflecting on a related theme, or digging deeper into learning about the subject.
I also hope that you will be inspired to create your own Moments in the Park, in words, images, sound, or whatever medium suits you. If you would like to share your creations, I would be happy to post them!

Share Your Moments

Delayed Inspiration

11/30/2017

Over the past few weeks, I have been feeling in a bit of a slump. My morning walks have mostly been in darkness. Even on weekends when I head out after sunrise, the ubiquitous brown between autumn leaves and snow has seemed drab and monotonous. My creature companions are laying low for the season. Song birds are quiet, insects have disappeared, and even squirrels are few and far between. Moments have been hard to come by. The dreariness had seeped into the rest of my life as well. I have felt restless and unfocused, not my usual energetic and productive self.

Moment: November 27, 2017, 7:00 a.m.

11/29/2017

Reflective surfaces lit by flame-bright sun breaking over the horizon, the Minneapolis skyline becomes a distant beacon fire marking my destination.

Transfer Rd.

Moment: November 29, 2017, 6:45 a.m.

11/29/2017

On a partially frozen pond, sleeping ducks gather at the edge of the ice, like beads woven into a lacy fringe.

Pond north of Pierce Butler Route

Moment: November 26, 2017, 4:45 p.m.

11/26/2017

Sunset dusts the bottoms of clouds with brilliant pink, like gaudy blush on a tray of make-up brushes turned upside down.

My back yard

Sepia Morning

11/24/2017

Hazy clouds and bronze morning light on autumn's brown gave Friday morning the feel of an old-fashioned sepia photograph.

A long band of bright orange light sliced by the laundromat on the corner stretched across most of the park.

Moment: November 21, 2017, 7:00 a.m.

11/23/2017

A gusty wind breathes new life into fallen leaves. Reanimated, they rush and tumble down the sidewalk.

Hamline Ave.

Moment: November 18, 2017

11/20/2017

Gnarled roots enfold clutches of jumbled stones, stalwart remnants of earth long since washed downstream.

Hidden Falls Regional Park

Saturday afternoon was sunny and kind of not cold. Since wintery temperatures have settled in, it's been harder to get the kids outside for any length of time, so I decided to seize the opportunity. We bundled up and headed down to Hidden Falls Park. We hung out on the beach along the Mississippi for an hour or so. We tried to skip stones, but mostly just ended up throwing them in the water.

At intervals along the shore, there was a series of large trees - maybe cottonwoods? (My tree identification skills falter when there aren't any leaves to go by.) They each stood on a gnarled heap of roots, apparently exposed as the sandy shore eroded underneath them. The roots made great jungle gyms. The nooks and crannies in the roots were filled with stones. Some had clearly been placed there by previous visitors, but most seemed to have just settled naturally. Some had even been caught in the tree itself as it grew around them.

Moment: November 15, 2017, 6:30 a.m.

11/15/2017

Caressed by a tender breeze, white pines ripple with pleasure.

Horton Park

Moment: November 11, 2017, 7:00 a.m.

11/11/2017

A light blanket of snow quilts bricks into soft squares.

Friends School Peace Garden

Moment: November 8, 2017, 4:00 p.m.

11/8/2017

Geese wing downriver in pairs, wing to wing, partners dancing along ancient flightways

Bridge 9, over the Mississippi River

Biking over the Mississippi on my way home this afternoon, geese were flying overhead. They were traveling in twos and threes, rather than their customary V formation. Each little group flew so close together, they seemed to be almost touching. I assume the pairs were mates. I don't know how the threes were related, perhaps siblings. Occasionally a single goose flapped on alone, and I felt rather sorry for the lonely ones.