Poetics of Space

Prospect Park


Although it’s a sunny day, the wind is cold on our faces as we walk through the park. Frosty leaves left behind from the fall crunch beneath our feet and crackle beneath the wheels of my best friend’s rusty red bike. We wander along curving paths that follows a partially frozen pond and discuss whether or not it’s really an issue that her boyfriend doesn’t know what eutrophication is. Woods shade out the sun and as we keep walking our laughs echo into the trees, making it feel like we’re the only ones in the park for a few moments.

Occasionally, couples and people with dogs pass us and I am starting to lose feeling in my hands and feet. We decide to go back. First we cross a small wooden bridge, and then pass by empty baseball diamonds. It’s a sharp contrast to the lively music and family barbecues in the summer that would always leave the lingering smell of smoke on my clothes. Leaving the park we see the sad remains of abandoned Christmas trees, gone through a wood chipper and now in massive piles along the road. I am happy to head home.