Walking Through the Park on a Wintry Evening

I worked a double-shift at work today, and even though I was doing data entry- which meant I could listen to music instead of talking to ornery recent hospital patients- by the end of the night I was mentally drained. Not because the work was intellectually engaging, but rather the opposite- I felt like a used-up automaton. Too much coffee and reflecting on my life left me in an ambivalent malaise, a funk that's tough to get out of. I didn't want to expend the energy to try to arrange a ride home either, so I decided to walk.

Liberty Park lies in my path, and it's always my favorite part of that walk. Strolling through the park at any time helps unclutter my mind, but on a winter's night the sensation is peculiarly magnified. Sometimes lonliness is what I most need for mental rejuvenation and, because a park is the type of place where it seems people should be, I often feel more alone there when it's deserted than if I were miles from the nearest person. The stately trees framing the central path loom above and the only sound heard is the ice crunching under my feet; deep undistracted introspection is unavoidable. I see only two other people the entire time, am tempted to greet them, but refrain at the thought that perhaps they are dependent on this sublime solitude as much as I. A simple nod in passing is the only acknowledgement of companionship tonight.

Soon I pass the pond, then the park is behind me. The streets ahead are also familiar; though their familiarity isn't comforting and peaceful, as is the park's, but tiresome. Nonetheless I tread on, and am soon home.