Central Park and a picnic, these were all I needed for the good life. The bustling city surrounds it, and yet I feel like I am in the middle of a wildlife preserve. I feel one with the trees and the birds and the squirrels.
I sit under a giant oak tree, which shows the changes from summer to fall. The leaves at the top of the tree are green but as you work your way down, the colors change to reds and oranges, and browns, the colors of fall. The leaves fall around me and make a wonderful blanket to set up my picnic.
I look around me and see the joggers, no longer in their shorts and sports bras, but now in long sleeve shirts and yoga pants. There are no longer children in the park everyday, as the school season has started along with the football season. The park becomes more and more bare as the late fall approaches. But suddenly, with just one day, the park erupts with people.
The first snow lands on the ground and I am still under my oak tree. The children have off of school this day, so the snowball fights and the making of forts commences. I dare not join in, because the mothers all sit near the tables and watch me thoroughly. I wish I could join but it has been very long since I was a child. Very often the children only stay for one day, because the roads had been cleared so school is back on, much to their dismay.
I continue to sit in loneliness under my oak tree, which has been barren of leaves for some months now. I watch the snow melt and the ground get soggy underneath my picnic basket. I watch as the park turns sunny even on a frigid day. I wish for the warmth that will keep me alive. I wish for the warmth of a summer breeze, not this cold stinging whisp of frost in my face.
I wish for the smiling faces that keep my will to live alive. I wish for the warmth of love, that even I deserve. I wish someone came to Central Park to help me. I wish that I didn’t die.