Walking Meditation

I spent the day in Luxun Park in North Shanghai. It was a once or twice a year kind of day. Spring emerging, cheating winter out of a day. And I’m free to enjoy it. Crisp and fresh and fragrant. Warm in the sun. Cool in the shade.

For those of you lucky enough to live near a big city park, you know well the social masterpiece that takes place on this carefully crafted and maintained stage. On a day for quiet, I walked. Breathing deep the joy of life around me.

Old couples dancing in coordinated step to old Chinese classics

A kite stuck in a tree

Practicing calligraphy with water on black pavement. Liquid blends dirt and rock. Getting darker.

An old woman in a wool coat and trousers – using green metal fencing to stretch our her legs

Men huddled around the Xingqi board. Women crowd the card table.

The wedding couple walks by. Photographer in tow. Photographer helper in tow’s tow.

Football stadium pokes out through the spring blossoms. Massive Nike ads of Ronaldo and Torres wave in the wind.

The odd business man practicing Tai Chi. Alone. His suit stands out in the crowd of passer-bys.

Women singing a duet as the wood block keeps semi-steady rhythm and the violin swims in the background. The wheelchairs circle round.

Bamboo scaffolding. New building.

Men’s gossip corner. An audience for anyone. An ever-eavesdropping ear.

Another casual observer.

A fuchsia overcoat. You just don’t see those around.

Two kinds of magnolia.

String, sticks and a spinning top. He’s learning. This one’s caught the rhythm. He has gloves; the master on stage.

Clap front. Clap back. Clap front. Clap back. Clap front. Clap back.

Studies a three-page foldout in the weekly news magazine.

Walk backward. Walk forward.
Walk alone. Walk arm in arm. Walk arm with bag. Arm with baby.
Walk with a gaping goofy smile.

On the move. A huge blue and white construction truck. Heading for bamboo scaffolding.

Yellow forsythia. Brighter than yellow ever imagined. Struck across tender willow greens.

Jeans that say “jeans” accompanied by frazzle-dried, red-dyed hair. A mischievous smile. “Should I push him in? Could I?”

Two-year old playing ball. Can’t let it fall in the water. Grandpa chases successfully. The sidelines watch and enjoy and help when necessary. The game must go on. Lilo and Stitch must stay dry.

A silent study of flowers with camera.

Ground shakes. Train underneath.

Up the stairs. At the top, a victorious yelp. Down again. Repeat. Many times. Many yelps.

Exquisite rock landscaping brings life and layers to the garden. Someone put the right person on the job.

Cigarette #9. 11:23am.

Two men in camouflage walk easily with their pruning shears. There smiles shouting. “It’s a perfect day to work in the garden.”

A saxophone warms up on the hill.

Blossoms. Soft. Pink. Yellow. White. Green.

A disfigured face. Purple and yellow. Swollen. Not self-conscious.

Attracting a crowd. The boys surround and stare. Seconds pass. Will they speak? “Hello. What are you doing?”

Memory welcomes back a day in Rome. Losing my way outside the Aventino. Panini and a Peroni.

Snipping badminton shuttlecocks. They will fly faster now. Two cigarettes of work. No sweat. Back to the court.

Marching with vigorous arm sways. Middle-aged women exercise.

Saxophone still warming up. Another Yelp.

Lunchtime.