Monday, November 10, 2008
"The living moment is everything."
Cobalt blue, and here-and there dabs of cotton clouds: that was the sky over a park in Ireland where I sat a couple of years ago, observing the picnics and the children, the birds that darted down for the shadows of leftover bread crusts, the students stretching out long on the grass with enormous textbooks cushioning their sleeping heads.
The local authorities had just installed a ring of high quality, polished, wooden seats that encircled the inner segment of the park. I sat, glad for the comfort, pleased that somebody was taking care to ensure the park was maintained and that the tourists and joggers and colleagues who frequented the area would feel privileged to do so.
I was about to rise and continue my walk about the city of Galway when I was struck back into place by a conversation happening at a tremendous volume next to my ear, for which I admit no fault in overhearing.
"What's the point of these fancy seats?" the woman announced boldly to her friend. "They're just all going to rot someday anyway."
In spite of my astonishment, I silently agreed with my neighbour: the marvellous wooden structures might succumb to the rain, and rot and crumble someday.
But at the very least, we might bring ourselves to enjoy the moment; and while sitting under the most perfect blue sky, with the luxury of having time to spare, that ought not to be very difficult to accomplish.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 1:42 PM