Isaac is a giant fan of the Playground. Ours, two blocks from the house, offset behind a school, features a long, vastly unkempt field one must traverse to get to the Playground. Isaac, excited and expectant, tries to get across the field. He never can. The ocean of grass is too large, too difficult. So he is inevitably carried to the destination. His energy conserved, he will begin to play on the smaller of the two playgrounds. Systematically conquering its slide by swinging dangerously back and forth then shooting himself down the slide. Only once has he overshot the slide. And did so with a great smile.
From this point, Isaac conquers the larger playground's slide. He climbs the half-parabolic wooden steps to the platform, leaps up to the next platform, then across the metal grating and onto the top of the slide. From the tippity top he yells "Hello" to all who will hear. He is on his mountain and looking down on us all from the apex of his incredible journey. Then, circuitously, he unleashes a glee-filled yell rife with static electricity as he plummets towards the slide's mouth. At this point, I either catch him or he semi-lands on his feet in the scattered and damp wood chips. Then, repeat.
Maybe we throw in a stomach-first ride on the swings. Perhaps a daring crossing of the metal, chain-linked ladder that lies parallel to the ground. And sometimes we just stand and watch and look around. And we always say "Goodbye" when we leave.
I am left to ponder this imagination. One that dares to see jungle gyms and slides and monkey bars and swings as jungle gyms and slides and monkey bars and swings. Not that seeing things as they are presented, as tokens and elements of immense joys, is naive perception -- it is, I realize, a great opposite.
From this point, Isaac conquers the larger playground's slide. He climbs the half-parabolic wooden steps to the platform, leaps up to the next platform, then across the metal grating and onto the top of the slide. From the tippity top he yells "Hello" to all who will hear. He is on his mountain and looking down on us all from the apex of his incredible journey. Then, circuitously, he unleashes a glee-filled yell rife with static electricity as he plummets towards the slide's mouth. At this point, I either catch him or he semi-lands on his feet in the scattered and damp wood chips. Then, repeat.
Maybe we throw in a stomach-first ride on the swings. Perhaps a daring crossing of the metal, chain-linked ladder that lies parallel to the ground. And sometimes we just stand and watch and look around. And we always say "Goodbye" when we leave.
I am left to ponder this imagination. One that dares to see jungle gyms and slides and monkey bars and swings as jungle gyms and slides and monkey bars and swings. Not that seeing things as they are presented, as tokens and elements of immense joys, is naive perception -- it is, I realize, a great opposite.
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