Park Life

The park is quiet
in the way only mornings are.

Sunlight spills through the branches,
warming my face
like something trying gently
to wake me back up.

Birdsong carries through the air,
untroubled, effortless,
while a cool breeze moves across my skin
and through the noise I dragged here with me.

For a little while
I ask nothing of the world.
I simply sit,
breathing with the trees,
letting the morning loosen
all the things tied tight inside me.

And somehow,
on an old wooden bench
with the sun in my eyes
and the wind at my back,
life feels soft again,

for a brief moment at least.