A walk in the park

Today on my morning walk
(I call it my “commute”)
I went into the neighbourhood park
instead of past it – we’re allowed now -
Haven’t been in there in years,
probably close to a decade,
since I had tiny hands to hold.

I walked the mowed path by the pond;
about twenty steps between trees and undergrowth,
once an exciting wilderness trek.
I stood on the rock where we watched for frogs -
might have even caught one once -
And I remember hearing the story
about how one of my boys cried
when a neighbourhood kid killed a fish.
He shoots humans on screens now;
death gets old and uninteresting, I guess.

There used to be a bridge
where we’d sit and hang our feet over the water
and I’d worry about boots falling off,
but now it’s just a mound of dirt over a culvert.
How did I not know that?
“That bridge rotted out when I was eight,” he says.

There’s so much I don’t know about their adventures
I never thought it was my place to join them
Just trusted they were safe and let them be
I wonder if the freedom left them feeling abandoned
Second-generation latchkey kids
Or maybe that’s just me projecting

I thought about swinging on the swings
but there’s still caution tape around the playground equipment.
Besides, even though I love the height and the rush
this body keeps getting older
and swings make me motion sick now.
I’ll come back and risk it
some other day