Writing at the Park

I want to write but the words escape me, like an elusive prey.  Describing my days in a succinct pattern of prose.  Catching the mundane acts of the day with literary extraordinaire.  

Pausing to look up as the children slide down the slick green tongue of the playground.  Landing like a sack of flour hitting the floor.  For a moment, a stoke of the second hand, they stop.  Popping up like a small explosion as they race for the stairs again.

Parents flying kites, trying to get their children interested on holding the line.  They have the choice, run around with friends, or stand here, tethered to the kite gracefully flying high above.  

The laughs, like a gaggle of ducks spreads across the play ground like a wildfire.  With infectious energy the waves of laughing and screaming.  Brothers, sisters, cousins, friends with no concerns.... Expect when it is time to go.