The Perfect Park

At the top of her lungs an ear-splitting shout erupts and sends a flock of tree-sitters to scatter among the sky above. The foliage is forced to frolic from side to side as lifeless leaves rain down below.

In the wake of the noise, a wave of silence brings me back to reality. But before I sit in peace the horn again intervenes. This time it sounds for longer.

The harbor sits merely a stone's throw away from her now as the people pause for some time to see her dock. She steadies herself and glides in the direction a pocket which divides the wharf with the rocks, careful not come to close to the latter. Time sits still, as things happen in slow motion. She maneuvers into the cranny, kisses the wharf upon arrival and the ropes hugs around a bollard.

The attentive onlookers trade their faces with worry for smiles. Waves from passengers who stand on the ship's deck are replied with by waves from those below on the waterfront.

And just like everything, the hype dissolves, the onlookers leave, the passengers disembark and ship sits like any other ship in the harbor, waiting for another turn on the stage.