10.2.21
Echo Lake Park is five layers of simulation. Starting from inside out we observe the inner chasm first. This is the turtles' underwater sanctuary. Turtles can dance carelessly underwater, uninterested in human happenings in the further layers, Unknown to us are their expertly crafted dance routines. The interweaving nose dives, the synchronized orbits, and partner exchanges. All their creativity lives safely in the innermost layer
Next layer is dominion of plastic swan boats. Mounted by thrill seekers who need a rest, these plastic swans are quite relieved to be unbreathing. Their rigid spines are torqued within an inch of their lives, day in and day out. Yet they always have energy for the night together. Collaboration commences at night. How to auto-animate from their plastic cages. As we all know. nothing constructed in life's likeness can stay immortalized forever. So by day they are ridden playthings and by night they theorize a path back to temporary life.
The third layer from center represents fission. A couple aspects of park habituals smashed together. Fishers confuse onlookers. Who ever fished in water surrounded by concrete streets on all sides. The car buzz disturbs the fish to the point of paralysis. So these fishers of the 3rd layer don't make out well. The only hope is the fish buzzed enough they think themselves ready to meet the unfiltered light. So they emerge, ensnared by golden hooks.
The fourth layer composed of trees protects our youth. Insulates their dreams of grandiosity, Every pair laid up on the festered leaves believes themselves immortal. They believe the loving trees. Young lovers feel their single breath and can't help but trust forever. They exhale smoke, entrusting trees to regulate the weather. And of course, they do. Omnipotent guardians of our youth.
The outer most layer, the border on our pretty simulation, is the most constricting. The chain link fence reminds me of Dad's hoarsest shriek. Anytime I see or hear it I know the end is now. No more pleasantries, no more parties, no more fair. The chain links are made to weep. Grasp on with both hands, shake desperately. Cry hard too, because we won't be back for months.