Om (short story)
Everything was silent. The combination of snow and Sunday had shut the city down so completely that you could briefly imagine it away. The Olympics were awesome in their new ermine with veils of cloud still clinging to their shoulders. The immediate surroundings, timeless and soothing, inspired nothing so much as sitting, resting, being. Rounded boulders, invitingly warm in the summer, were perfectly soft and smooth -- natural snow lanterns rising above the tufted snow on the ground. Gnarled Japanese maples, ablaze with color two months back, created a spidery black-and-white lattice against the snowy backdrop of Queen Anne. A red osier dogwood, backed by the darker woods, mimicked the pattern in pink.
The north wind had ceased blowing that morning, just as the snow had stopped. It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons of fresh snow before the rain inevitably came back to wash it away. Michael hoped the cold would stay for a few more days so that his sister and her family could experience the park as he was seeing it right now. He always brought them to The Peak whenever they visited. It was his safe place -- the place he returned to whenever he needed a respite from urban living.
He and Grace had been here so many times in every season that it was now their chief calendar. In January, you could have the park entirely to yourself. On the rainiest days of the year the low rock outcropping in the Southwest corner streamed and dribbled water in a series of tiny cascades. By February the first snowbells and crocuses began to bloom. March sunsets told you the precise date with the equinox setting exactly into the Brothers. Migratory birds started to arrive in April and May. Grace knew that spring had finally arrived when she heard the song of the white crowned sparrows. Resident chickadees began to nest in the houses scattered around the park and Michael loved the tiny laughing voices of their chicks. He imagined the parents telling them a joke every time they returned.
In June Michael and Grace would watch sunsets from the end of the nurse log near the bleeding heart. From there the solstice would set the ornamental maple in the northwest corner of the park on fire before drifting slowly beyond the horizon. July and August were for foraging blueberries and then blackberries for humans while the masses of hummingbirds came for the aster, hyssop, columbine and penstemon that grew in the tiny meadow and the beebalm and honeysuckle that edged the cliff. September was Michael's favorite. While the sun retraced its steps, skipping from peak to peak with every passing day, fall colors started to appear. There was no better place for watching the returning clouds envelop the Olympics or scud across the Sound and city.
In October the serviceberry, firebush and various maples reached their climax. Every day the spirit of some zen master would arrange gold and red leaves just so on the boulders. Other days, a low fog would creep up to the very edge of the cliff, floating the park over a world of mystery. Grace imagined fairies inhabiting the park and would weave the dried grasses into little hearts and stars for them. November storms would clear out all the colorful leaves, opening up the view and here it was December again.
Michael got up from the bench where they sat gazing out over snow covered Ballard. He turned around when he heard a cry followed by a crash and then laughter. It was Billy and Paul, his neighbors, though he didn't know exactly where they lived. Michael and Grace had quite a few neighbors that they saw only at the park. People had busy lives and unless they were involved in the same activities it was usually at the park where they met each other. Billy had been walking along the nurse log and Paul had helped him out with a barrage of snowballs. The two boys took turns hurling snow and dodging behind the maturing firs and cedars. Michael called out to get their attention.
"Innocent bystanders here! Hold your fire in the demilitarized zone."
"Oh. Hi Michael," said Paul. "We were just coming to check out the ice."
"Ice?" asked Grace, who had gotten up. "What ice?"
"It's right over there," said Billy. "You've got to try it out."
Billy lead them over to the rock outcropping. It was low and broad with a shallow pool in the center. Billy and Paul stepped up and brushed the snow off the now frozen pool. What had in the summer served as a birdbath and a foot puddle and a dog bowl was now covered with a thin sheet of ice. The boys pulled back their hoods and took off their mittens. They made cracks at the edges of the ice and then lifted thin, paper sized sheets of ice over their heads.
"This is our winter ritual," they said simultaneously and then laughed out loud.
"Ready, set ... Om, mani padme hum," they chanted together and then broke the sheets of ice over their foreheads. They beamed as they looked up, dripping, at Grace and Michael. "You should try it!" they encouraged. Grace, having grown up with brothers, was not one to turn down this kind of dare. Michael looked on, amusedly, pondering the effect school yoga was having on today's youth. Grace pulled another hunk of ice out of the pool and asked, "Do I need to say the words?" "Oh yes," the boys answered. "It's required." Solemnly, she chanted, "Om mani padme hum" -- crash!
She faced the boys, all three of them, her eyes closed, with a small shard of ice hanging off the end of her nose. "Well," asked Michael, "how was it?" A long pause and then ... "Awesome! No. I mean, really. It's this quiet moment followed by a burst of sensation. It just, well, brings you to your senses." Paul and Billy cheered while Michael dipped a finger into the pool. "Well, there's no accounting for taste," he said and quickly put his glove back on.
Grace wiped the ice off her red nose and looked at Paul and Billy. "So what else do you boys know about that I've been missing?" she asked. They proceeded to ask if she knew about the banana slug hotel in a hole under the big stump or the wolf spiders between the two boulders near the sidewalk. No, she hadn't noticed those. Did she know that the two best spots to do rubbings were the brass bird plaques near the entrance and the bug ones on the underside of the picnic table? She'd never discovered the bugs. Did she know that an eagle once landed in the big cedar tree carrying a dead crow and then dropped it on their picnic blanket? Gross! Or that, except in winter, you could usually find every color of an eight pack of crayons in the park? "Really? I'll have to try that some time." And did she know that there were elves in the park that made little ornaments out of braided grass? "Oh really?"
It was wonderful for Michael and Grace to see the park through 10 year old eyes. They had indeed been missing a lot. The little forest had seemed merely a buffer between the street and the view but they now realized that it was a park within a park. They always imagined The Peak as a mountain with its rock outcroppings and view. But it was also a miniature forest in their dense neighborhood, with mini wildlife and mini adventures for those willing to slow down and look close at hand. Grace wondered how many of her neighbors had yet other perspectives on the park. Who else came here and what did they do? There were times she wished she could experience people from the perspective of the park instead of the other way around.
Once again, The Peak was working its magic on her. She went to the park almost daily for the expansive view but she had long ago realized that the park was teaching her how to see. She often felt that she and Michael didn't choose to go to the park so much as the park brought them to itself. The Peak was tiny by most standards but at times it seemed the entire world. It gave the neighborhood such a sense of place that she couldn't imagine its not having been there. And although no one lived in the park, it was the neighborhood living room. The safe place, as Michael called it, where you never knew what would happen other than it would be good.
Michael interrupted her reverie with a reminder that they had only two days left before his sister's family arrived. The house needed cleaning and decorating and they had promised his nephew they would decorate gingerbread houses. The bread would never harden properly unless they made it today. Michael and Grace said goodbye as the boys headed toward the street. Michael reminded them that Santa still had time for last minute adjustments to his schedule so they had better be good in the next few days. "OK, we'll try," was the laughing response. They boys were already at the sidewalk when they waved and shouted a final "Merry Christmas!" back at them.
Grace turned to Michael. "You know what?"
"What?"
"If you close your eyes I'll give you a surprise."
Michael closed his eyes in anticipation. Grace made him wait and then said, "Repeat after me ... 'You love me.'"
"You love me."
"I love you."
"I love you."
"Om, mani padme hum."
"Om, mani padme hey! Wait a ..." CRASH!
Icy drips replaced the warm kiss Michael was expecting as he sputtered something about false advertising and Grace's name. But his demeanor gradually changed from a scowl to a smile and he finally agreed. "You know, it really does bring you to your senses." Having attained enlightenment, he received his reward and, after a last look at the view, they walked home with their arms around each other, leaving three legged footprints in the snow.
The north wind had ceased blowing that morning, just as the snow had stopped. It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons of fresh snow before the rain inevitably came back to wash it away. Michael hoped the cold would stay for a few more days so that his sister and her family could experience the park as he was seeing it right now. He always brought them to The Peak whenever they visited. It was his safe place -- the place he returned to whenever he needed a respite from urban living.
He and Grace had been here so many times in every season that it was now their chief calendar. In January, you could have the park entirely to yourself. On the rainiest days of the year the low rock outcropping in the Southwest corner streamed and dribbled water in a series of tiny cascades. By February the first snowbells and crocuses began to bloom. March sunsets told you the precise date with the equinox setting exactly into the Brothers. Migratory birds started to arrive in April and May. Grace knew that spring had finally arrived when she heard the song of the white crowned sparrows. Resident chickadees began to nest in the houses scattered around the park and Michael loved the tiny laughing voices of their chicks. He imagined the parents telling them a joke every time they returned.
In June Michael and Grace would watch sunsets from the end of the nurse log near the bleeding heart. From there the solstice would set the ornamental maple in the northwest corner of the park on fire before drifting slowly beyond the horizon. July and August were for foraging blueberries and then blackberries for humans while the masses of hummingbirds came for the aster, hyssop, columbine and penstemon that grew in the tiny meadow and the beebalm and honeysuckle that edged the cliff. September was Michael's favorite. While the sun retraced its steps, skipping from peak to peak with every passing day, fall colors started to appear. There was no better place for watching the returning clouds envelop the Olympics or scud across the Sound and city.
In October the serviceberry, firebush and various maples reached their climax. Every day the spirit of some zen master would arrange gold and red leaves just so on the boulders. Other days, a low fog would creep up to the very edge of the cliff, floating the park over a world of mystery. Grace imagined fairies inhabiting the park and would weave the dried grasses into little hearts and stars for them. November storms would clear out all the colorful leaves, opening up the view and here it was December again.
Michael got up from the bench where they sat gazing out over snow covered Ballard. He turned around when he heard a cry followed by a crash and then laughter. It was Billy and Paul, his neighbors, though he didn't know exactly where they lived. Michael and Grace had quite a few neighbors that they saw only at the park. People had busy lives and unless they were involved in the same activities it was usually at the park where they met each other. Billy had been walking along the nurse log and Paul had helped him out with a barrage of snowballs. The two boys took turns hurling snow and dodging behind the maturing firs and cedars. Michael called out to get their attention.
"Innocent bystanders here! Hold your fire in the demilitarized zone."
"Oh. Hi Michael," said Paul. "We were just coming to check out the ice."
"Ice?" asked Grace, who had gotten up. "What ice?"
"It's right over there," said Billy. "You've got to try it out."
Billy lead them over to the rock outcropping. It was low and broad with a shallow pool in the center. Billy and Paul stepped up and brushed the snow off the now frozen pool. What had in the summer served as a birdbath and a foot puddle and a dog bowl was now covered with a thin sheet of ice. The boys pulled back their hoods and took off their mittens. They made cracks at the edges of the ice and then lifted thin, paper sized sheets of ice over their heads.
"This is our winter ritual," they said simultaneously and then laughed out loud.
"Ready, set ... Om, mani padme hum," they chanted together and then broke the sheets of ice over their foreheads. They beamed as they looked up, dripping, at Grace and Michael. "You should try it!" they encouraged. Grace, having grown up with brothers, was not one to turn down this kind of dare. Michael looked on, amusedly, pondering the effect school yoga was having on today's youth. Grace pulled another hunk of ice out of the pool and asked, "Do I need to say the words?" "Oh yes," the boys answered. "It's required." Solemnly, she chanted, "Om mani padme hum" -- crash!
She faced the boys, all three of them, her eyes closed, with a small shard of ice hanging off the end of her nose. "Well," asked Michael, "how was it?" A long pause and then ... "Awesome! No. I mean, really. It's this quiet moment followed by a burst of sensation. It just, well, brings you to your senses." Paul and Billy cheered while Michael dipped a finger into the pool. "Well, there's no accounting for taste," he said and quickly put his glove back on.
Grace wiped the ice off her red nose and looked at Paul and Billy. "So what else do you boys know about that I've been missing?" she asked. They proceeded to ask if she knew about the banana slug hotel in a hole under the big stump or the wolf spiders between the two boulders near the sidewalk. No, she hadn't noticed those. Did she know that the two best spots to do rubbings were the brass bird plaques near the entrance and the bug ones on the underside of the picnic table? She'd never discovered the bugs. Did she know that an eagle once landed in the big cedar tree carrying a dead crow and then dropped it on their picnic blanket? Gross! Or that, except in winter, you could usually find every color of an eight pack of crayons in the park? "Really? I'll have to try that some time." And did she know that there were elves in the park that made little ornaments out of braided grass? "Oh really?"
It was wonderful for Michael and Grace to see the park through 10 year old eyes. They had indeed been missing a lot. The little forest had seemed merely a buffer between the street and the view but they now realized that it was a park within a park. They always imagined The Peak as a mountain with its rock outcroppings and view. But it was also a miniature forest in their dense neighborhood, with mini wildlife and mini adventures for those willing to slow down and look close at hand. Grace wondered how many of her neighbors had yet other perspectives on the park. Who else came here and what did they do? There were times she wished she could experience people from the perspective of the park instead of the other way around.
Once again, The Peak was working its magic on her. She went to the park almost daily for the expansive view but she had long ago realized that the park was teaching her how to see. She often felt that she and Michael didn't choose to go to the park so much as the park brought them to itself. The Peak was tiny by most standards but at times it seemed the entire world. It gave the neighborhood such a sense of place that she couldn't imagine its not having been there. And although no one lived in the park, it was the neighborhood living room. The safe place, as Michael called it, where you never knew what would happen other than it would be good.
Michael interrupted her reverie with a reminder that they had only two days left before his sister's family arrived. The house needed cleaning and decorating and they had promised his nephew they would decorate gingerbread houses. The bread would never harden properly unless they made it today. Michael and Grace said goodbye as the boys headed toward the street. Michael reminded them that Santa still had time for last minute adjustments to his schedule so they had better be good in the next few days. "OK, we'll try," was the laughing response. They boys were already at the sidewalk when they waved and shouted a final "Merry Christmas!" back at them.
Grace turned to Michael. "You know what?"
"What?"
"If you close your eyes I'll give you a surprise."
Michael closed his eyes in anticipation. Grace made him wait and then said, "Repeat after me ... 'You love me.'"
"You love me."
"I love you."
"I love you."
"Om, mani padme hum."
"Om, mani padme hey! Wait a ..." CRASH!
Icy drips replaced the warm kiss Michael was expecting as he sputtered something about false advertising and Grace's name. But his demeanor gradually changed from a scowl to a smile and he finally agreed. "You know, it really does bring you to your senses." Having attained enlightenment, he received his reward and, after a last look at the view, they walked home with their arms around each other, leaving three legged footprints in the snow.
Jonathan Callahan
Winter, 2002
posted by Jonathan Callahan at 7:56 PM
1 Comments:
This is a story I wrote about the still non-existent Fremont Peak Park. I wanted to influence the design process by sharing my vision of how a small park with a natural setting could create community by becoming the neighborhood safe place. Based on the recommendations in the final schematic design, I believe I did have some influence. There isn't much plot in this piece as I strove mostly to capture the feel of a place that did not yet exist. But I hope that, after reading this, you look forward to visiting this park when it does exist. The land has been bought and we're now waiting for funds to move ahead with (un)development.
Any comments or suggestions for improvement are greatly appreciated.
Enjoy.
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